


where lies the strangling fruit

by ItCameFromTheDeep



Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: Action/Adventure, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friendship/Love, Mystery, [REDACTED], and just a dash of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItCameFromTheDeep/pseuds/ItCameFromTheDeep
Summary: When people begin to go missing from a rural village, Abel Nightroad and Esther Blanchett are called in to investigate rumors that Methuselah are stalking the town.The truth is a bit more complicated.The Soil wants what the Animal has.
Relationships: Esther Blanchett/Abel Nightroad
Comments: 35
Kudos: 30





	1. I shall bring forth the seeds of the dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look what i can do! *barfs this up and dies*

Within the halls of an ancient archive, in the bowels of the Inquisitorial Department Headquarters, there is a certain document.

It reads:

Date of Inquiry Received: September 15, 30██  
Date Report Filed: October 17, 30██  
Inquiry Requested By: Sheriff █████ ████████ serving as representative for remaining citizens of the village.  
Subject of Inquiry: The disappearance and subsequent emergence of several townsfolk in the Province of ███████ in the village of ████████  
Supervising Agent(s): Brother █████ █████████ and his apprentice Brother ███████ ████████ were sent to investigate these disappearances on 01/20/██  
Notes Regarding Incident: Beginning on the evening of September 3rd, several citizens vanished from the town of ████████. The final disappearance occurred on September 8th and the group remained missing for 30 days. In this span of time, local law enforcement contacted the DOI, operating off the belief that vampires were involved, thus making it a matter of breached border security. On the morning of October 15 however, all missing persons were located in a small commune near the ██████ █████ ████████. No visible signs of forced captivity, but victims were reluctant to leave the immediate area; medical examinations were conducted on site. Those tested appeared healthy and eager to share their experiences over the past month. Claimed an individual dubbed ██████, offered them food and shelter for 30 days before telling them to” ██████ ███ ████.” While villagers show noted ████████████████ ██████████, no malicious entities were detected in the surrounding areas.  
Persons of Interest: Potential suspect has been repeatedly referred to as ██████, though none of the returned villagers provided a consistent description.  
Following Action: No additional action will be taken. Incident has been labelled instance of mass hysteria triggered by drought and failing crops which drove citizens to abandon their homes, enticed by resources provided by benefactor. Theorized that their hysteria abated over time. Inquisition agents will remain on sight for final observations, then return to Vatican City.  
Department Head Signature of Approval: ███████ ████████ ████ ███

* * *

The sharp wind that followed the night did nothing to sooth the stifling humidity the day had left behind. So when Angelique Meyers, with an aching hip and a crying child clinging to that hip, ventured outside to find the clothesline still damp, she had no one to blame but the sky. 

“Oh, damn it all” she muttered under her breath. The damn coat had been out here all day and not only was it still damp, it _smelled _. That earthy sweet scent of mildew that never seemed to fade. It would just have to go, never mind that it was Martin’s favorite.__

____

As she stood there, trying to decide if her husband would believe their old bloodhound had shredded the even older coat, her other children- a young girl barely ten and a boy half as young- bust out of their little cottage, dashing towards the clothesline before cutting right into the woods, all before the door had finished swinging on its abused hinges. 

“I can see them! C’mon Tom! They’re so pretty!”

“Em, wait for me!” Tom, struggling to catch up, called after his sister, who was jumping and shrieking about little lights that she’d seen flickering beyond the tree line. _He _couldn’t see them, but his big sister never lied.__

Angelique watched from afar, worried but aware that chasing after nothing was one of the few joys of childhood, the long and sweltering days forgotten for just a few moments as they imagined something more pleasant. But that worry only heightened as her children ventured deeper into the forest. _Childhood is all well and good, but I do wish it came with a bit more sense, _She thought, hefting her littlest one up and marching towards the others.__

________ _ _ _ _

“Emilia Julie Meyers! You get back to the clearing right now young lady!” Angelique called after her daughter, passing by her son and nudging him back towards the cottage. “I won’t have you cracking your head open while you’re still in your Sunday best!” 

But Emilia paid her mother no mind, nor her brother forlornly gazing at the two from their porch, nor the baby crying, nor the old bloodhound who had started to bark and howl from inside the cottage. “It’s fine mama! I think I caught one!” Small hands clasped together over something, Emilia hopped down from the roots she’d climbed and turned back, hoping to win her mother over with a smile and a mostly-sincere apology.

But when she turned, her hands were empty and her mother was not there to receive her.

She was not anywhere. 

* * *

The nobleman would have looked refined dressed in his black and gold livery if he’d simply hold still for a moment and allow others to observe him closely. As it was though, he continued to pace across the room in long frantic strides, the hands behind his back so fiercely clenched that his knuckles seemed paper white, which clashed very much with the sickly green of his face. His lips set in a thin line and his eyes downcast, he paid no mind to the elderly handmaiden who’d quietly slipped into his study.

She took a moment to smooth out her skirt and bow low before addressing him, “Master Johannes, you’re-” she stopped when she saw him still pacing, muttering quietly to himself. Taking a steadying breath, she announced herself louder “ _Sir _” and the echo that bounced back from the high ceiling seemed to startle Johannes out his daze. He almost fell over himself with how quickly he came to a stop but, when he straightened up he turned tired, red rimmed eyes towards the older woman.__

____

With a shaky sigh that held traces of a sob, he addressed her “ Wha-what happened? Has something happened? Is there news?” and the rigid way he stood could not hide the slight tremble of his shoulders.

“No sir, nothing new to report. I’ve just come to tell you that your guests” and she delivered the word in a manner quite similar to one presenting a dead animal for identification “have arrived and are waiting in the parlor room. I can bring them here if you wis-” But at the mention of his company, Johannes’ crestfallen face tightened up into a fierce scowl and he rushed past her down the hall. 

“Of all the inconsiderate…”  
“Sir..”  
“Negligent, irresponsible...  
“Sir, please.”  
“Impolite, insensitive...”  
“Master Johannes, remember your blood pressure!” 

But Johannes was already standing before the double doors that led into his homes largest parlor, the one he would’ve used to great diplomats, receive missives, and entertain guests. _My son should be playing in there _he mused to himself, the anger almost entirely bleeding away into melancholy.__

____

____

Almost. 

_But instead I have to deal with two fools who’ve wasted my time! _Palms flat against the door he violently pushed forward—the wooden frame gave a resounding _CRACK _against the wall—Before calling out into the cavernous room “Just where in God’s name have you been!”____

_____ _

_____ _

The immediate response was a high-pitched yelp, followed closely by an undignified squawk of pain, and punctuated nicely by the shattering of glass. None of which answered his question. Striding forward with a glare that could rival a bull, he hovered over the back of the couch where two heads poked out. One topped by a splatter of red, the other a trail of silver. 

“Oh, Father Nightroad... now look what you’ve done.” The young woman with the red hair, her tone laced with disappointed, pulled a handkerchief from her suitcase and began to dab at the whimpering man’s sleeve, which was soaked through with what Johannes assumed to tea, if the priceless porcelain teacup lying in pieces on the floor was any indication. 

Still hovering over the two he addressed them more quietly, but that did nothing to ease the venom in his voice, “You were supposed to be here. Two. Days. Ago.” At his statement the woman pulled a sharp grimace, seemingly remembering something rather unpleasant. 

The man with the silver hair finally spoke up, lifting his head up so quickly that the loose, uneven strands of his long hair flicked the already annoyed woman in the face. As she crossed her arms and huffed, he stammered out, “Oh I’m terribly sorry sir! You see it’s the most dreadful thing! Our train’s engine exploded! We were stranded in the middle of nowhere!” Now he was gesturing wildly, bringing his hands together and spreading them out to mimic some enormous blaze.

The woman gave another huff, “It didn’t _explode _Father Nightroad, the engine just broke down. And we were already at the waystation.” Johannes had rounded around the couch to face them directly, but just as he moved to speak the priest started up again.__

____

____

“Miss Esther, a rinky-dink station in the middle of nowhere is still nowhere. Have some standards. Now where was I? Oh yes! With no train we ended up having to hike those last ten miles, but it was so late we had to camp and I’m certain I saw a _bear _and then!—” but before he could continue, the woman --Esther--seeing the rising flush on their host’s face, elbowed him sharply in the ribs.__

____

____

Rising up from her seat and standing tall, she set her shoulders tight in a straight line then bowed low. Even with her head down, her voice was clear and firm as she spoke “Lord Johannes Acker of Naples, I am Sister Esther Blanchett and this is my partner, Father Abel Nightroad. Due to circumstances out of our control, we’ve arrived inexcusably late and for this I am sorry.” Rising back up she locked eyes with him, and he was momentarily stunned by how intense her deep blue gaze was; she seemed less like a young nun and more like a stalwart general, come to win an entire war by diplomacy alone. 

She continued on, never wavering. “However, we are here now and are ready to begin the investigation. If the situation is even half as dire as your message made it seem, we had better get started right away.” She finally broke her stare to shoot a glance towards her partner, who was still nursing his ribs with a pout. 

After nudging him with her foot, he seemed to snap out of his sour mood. Throwing on a wide smile, he rummaged around in his own suitcase, a dusty and dented looking thing that was probably an antique _before _Armageddon, and pulled out a tattered notepad and chewed up pencil as Esther returned to her seat beside him.__

____

____

“Miss Esther is right sir, we haven't a moment to lose.” Father Nightroad leaned forward, looking far more serious than he had since he’d arrived. If the woman’s eyes could command an army, his could freeze one in its tracks. “Now please, tell us what happened”

Almost shaken by the earnest focus both agents directed towards him, Johannes took a seat on the couch facing them. Steadying his breath, his mind, his heart, he began.

“It’s been almost been a week since my son was taken. We’d come home from evening mass and I was putting him to bed. It’s just the two of us here—us and Agatha. My brother died this past winter and left the estate to me, but we only arrived a month ago; my wife hasn’t even finished settling our affairs back in Albion and our servants stayed behind to help her. I put Ivan to bed and he was asleep before I'd even left the room. I thought that was so strange, usually you’d need a tranquilizer to put him down.” he smiled sadly, the upturned corners of his lips straining against his hollow cheeks. But panic creeped into his eyes, and he brought both hands together in his lap, wringing them tightly 

“I went back because I heard the window open; but that damned thing is so rusted you don’t even need a lock to keep it close. I didn’t know what was wrong but it didn't _feel _right. When I opened the door there was this immediate smell—like wet, rotten wood. And then I saw it.__

____

____

It was hovering over my son, perched on each bedpost and just staring at him. It was wearing clothes like a man but its body was so...emaciated. It was so thin and frail looking I thought even I could snap it in half. So I tried. 

I ran towards it; to scare it away or fight, I don’t know I just wanted to _help _him. But when it looked up at me, I completely froze and...it took him.” Johannes began to harshly smooth his hair away from the face, pulling harder and harder against his scalp. “But it’s face was...there was nothing there! No ears, no nose, no eyes. Just a mouth; a completely smooth mouth that took up most of the face, without a single tooth.”__

____

____

The scratching of the pencil paused as Father Nightroad slowly glanced up “You know sir, Methuselah usually have...teeth.” he said it as though he were talking to a child, speaking slowly to ease some inevitable tantrum.

It did not work.

“Are you calling me a liar?! A Fool?! You think I don't know how this sounds, how completely ludicrous this entire nightmare seems. I tried to handle this quietly—I tried to get help!” Face red and his eyes beginning to water, Johannes heaved out another heavy sigh and with his breath went his spine. He curled in on himself, dropping his head to rest low in his palms as his breathing became labored and frantic. 

Esther and Abel shared nervous glances as the handmaiden, who’d silently kept watch by the parlor door, rushed to her master’s side and tried to steady him, her weathered hands firmly gripping him by both shoulders as she spoke quietly. After a few moments of her hushed words, Johannes seemed steady once again, though he remained bowed over himself. 

“But it wasn’t just me.” Johannes spoke again, voice muffled through his hands. “I went to my neighbors the moment it happened, but they paid me no mind. Then I went to the City Police; They took one look and sent me away. Ivan wasn’t the only person taken. Nineteen other people vanished that night. How do twenty people go missing in a single evening, and not a single soul bats an eye!”

Abel watched Johannes closely as he paused once again, this time overcome with frustration, his eyes scrunched tightly closed to ward off tears. After years of working with the Special Operations Department, he was used to the trauma that burned away at families, bleached away their color and left them raw and exposed. His eyes shifted slightly to Agatha, still standing by her master, but her eyes lacked the warmth one would expect from a confidant; It seemed more like she was...taking stock of the situation. 

“And how are you handling things Agatha?” It was Esther that spoke, and when Abel glanced down at her, her normally kind eyes had a hard edge to them; seems she’d also noticed the handmaiden’s less than loving demeanor.

Agatha looked up sharply, momentarily shocked at being addressed so directly, but she schooled her face into a neutral mask once more “I’ve lived here for quite some time now--old enough to be a family heirloom—and I'm more than familiar with the risks we face living in this town.” Almost as an afterthought she amended “being so close to the coast an’ all.” Now she shifted her mask towards Abel, and he shrunk back against the couch at the plain disdain in her eyes. Maybe she was mad about the cup. “And You. You think it’s something other than a vampire? Fine. Name me another beast that’s less than a week’s ship ride away!” 

‘“Oh! Um...Well I’m sure there’s—I mean I’m not _sure _per say but we’ve got...ah, a few leads already lined up and…” he looked to Esther for support; she was so much better at defusing people than he was! But she was making a cutting gesture across her throat and frantically shaking her head; Oh right! Classified info. But the damage was done.__

____

____

“A lead?” Johannes finally looked up, his face full of equal parts hope and confusion as he whispered. “But, how could you possibly have...you just got here!” There was that bullish anger again, but Abel had come to expect it already. The man seemed well-meaning, but he was quite predictable. 

In one quick motion Abel rose from his seat, taking his suitcase in one hand and Esther’s in the other, before moving towards the entryway. He called over his shoulder “Yes, well that’s the kind of top notch service you can expect from Vatican Sponsored special agents! Truly, this insight is a gift from God! We mustn’t waste it on prattle! 

As her partner tried to open the heavy oak doors with his feet (seeing as his hands were occupied) Esther rose from her seat and moved towards Johannes, leaning down to take his hands in hers and clasping them tightly as she looked him in the eye. 

“I promise you, sir. We’ll find your son.” That general’s gaze was back; she spoke with such resolution and confidence. It was so easy to believe her. Johannes could only nod as she took her hands away and headed for the door. 

Abel had finally made it through the doorway (leaving more than a few boot prints on the door) as Esther approached and was flashing her a smile of giddy pride, but it fell once he spotted Agatha trailing behind her. Looking a bit like a kicked puppy, Abel slinked out onto the stone stairway. Esther joined him just a few moments later, but she addressed the handmaiden one last time.

“You said you were familiar with the danger of living here. Not living on the coast. Living _here _. Is there something you’d like to share before we leave” She had her back to him, but Abel could easily picture the steady fire in her eyes. The way her brow furrowed, how her mouth would set in a tight line that bordered on a snarl. An ocean just about to boil over.__

____

____

The handmaiden stared at them from the slowly closing doorway, and her eyes had a faraway look, moving through them to some unforeseeable point in the past, some point that held answers, but not solutions.

“I already told you. I’ve lived here for a long time. And, no matter what I might think of it, no one’s seen fit to change things in all those years.” There was just a sliver of her now, just her bright grey eyes shining within the darkness of the foyer “I hope you’ll have better luck than the others” and with a final slam of the door she was gone. Several more clicks, clanks, chains, and deadbolts let them know she had no intention of reappearing should they need her.

Esther let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders falling slack as she slouched “Father Nightroad, that was almost a complete disaster.”

Abel wobbled a bit on his feet, still stunned from the reverb of the door, “Yes well... _almost _a disaster is still not quite a disaster” hefting up their bags, he walked down the steps and headed for the edge of town “Now, let’s get settled at the inn and regroup with Kate. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover”__

____

____

* * *

To call their temporary lodging an “inn” was a bit generous; situated on the farthest outskirts north of town, it’s pristine upkeep didn’t seem to be a major concern for the proprietors. From the outside, the dark wooden walls had a definite slant to them, as though the building itself was embarrassed at the sorry state of affairs and was trying to hide from prying eyes. Upon entering, one might notice just _how close _the roof seemed to be as it bowed dangerously inwards, weighed down by green and orange tinged rings of water damaged plaster.__

____

____

The establishments only saving grace was it’s convenient proximity to _Naples Strumento Statale per i Criminali e Malato _, which was currently the epicenter of over two-hundred reported missing persons cases across the Province of Naples .__

____

____

Esther and Abel sat at the room’s only table; small, round and rocking dangerously each time one of them shifted, as they meticulously sorted and packaged round of ammunition . Across from them at the back of the room, maps of town, the surrounding forests, and maritime trade routes popped in and out of existence. They were replaced suddenly with aerial photos of a ruined structure and a plot of data points as a woman gestured with a lazy flick of her wrist. As she did so, the bottom edges of her habit flickered out of focus and patches of her pale blonde hair became nearly translucent; While her energy reserves were functionally limitless, multitasking tended to break the illusion of Kate Scott’s physical presence. 

Kate mumbled to herself, chin resetting in her right hand and left arm cradling her body as single dot was plotted onto the graph, near the lowest point of the line “Doesn’t take a data analyst to see that it's moving inward. But why? What could anyone possibly want with a flooded…” Kate inhaled deeply before releasing a tired sigh, though whether the sigh truly helped or the tiredness really hindered, was debatable. 

Finished with the graph, Kate sent it away and turned to face the seated agents “So there’s good news and bad news. Good news: the Hispanian human trafficking ring that Dandelion was investigating has been inactive for a few months now. So’s the one in Germanicus that Professor followed up with.” She strode forward and brought with her the display of the stone ruins.

“Bad news: things are pretty inactive around here too. I’ve run about a dozen aerial scans of the surrounding terrain and there’s not a single _above ground _structure that could fit ten people, let alone two hundred.” The image of the ruins began to rapidly change, each flash a new angle; a crumbling archway stained black, the remains of a tower eroding away, a concrete yard littered with melted shrapnel and ash.__

____

____

Abel’s face scrunched up, like he’d taken a whiff of something foul, and given the state of the walls he just might’ve, “I...don’t like how you said _above ground _, Kate.”__

____

____

Have finished packing her spare rounds, Esther stood up to look closer at the display “This is the place isn’t it. The prison?” 

When Kate replied, her tone was laced with disgust “Yes it is, my dear. Naples State Facility for the Criminal and Unwell.” She sent the display away with a sharp wave of her hand and in its place was an older photograph of the prison, before time had commandeered it. 

“It was at the height of operation around the 3030s. An outbreak of an incredibly contagious strain of the plague had local officials turn a humble prison into a humble prison _slash _hospital.” The display now showed scenes plucked from old newspapers; construction to expand the facility, two men shaking hands in front of the immaculate--ash free--stone building, and person after person being led inside, some on stretchers, others in chains.__

____

____

“Even after the outbreak was contained they made use of all the extra space. The ward for the sick evolved into a much more general ward for “health” and it became an all purpose holding facility for every town within a hundred kilometer radius. A convenient pool of free labor for anyone to dip into, and thanks to the place being _far _over capacity, there were always enough hands.”__

____

____

Hunched over his own sorted ammunition, Abel spoke up from the table “If so many towns were using it, how’d it end up in such a sorry state?” 

Kate tensed, a long line of stress forcing her posture ramrod-straight and her voice was strained when she answered, “There was a...fire. it’s believed to have been negligence on the part of the staff. Visitors to the health ward reported their loved ones acting increasingly agitated in the days leading up to the incident. Apparently they could...smell something. Most of the staff made it out, but none of the residents survived.” 

Giving a small shake of her head that released some of the tension from her body, she carried on “Honestly, the whole thing seems completely archaic.” She lowered her head and folded her hands together, offering a prayer--a salve for a hurt long scarred over, “They treated those poor people no better than dogs. The actual _dogs _probably slept more soundly. ”__

____

____

Abel waited a moment before speaking, a confused look on his face as he too looked more closely at the slideshow of old photos “But Kate, if the entire place burned down, what exactly are we looking for out there?” Esther had moved away from them both, rummaging through the files spread out on the room’s solitary bed. 

“There’s one place we haven’t explored yet” Kate sent away the photos, bringing up instead a large map of the town, and its two immediate neighbors to the North and East. “The epicenter of all these disappearances is the former site of the prison, but there’s more to it then the actual building.” She pointed to the center of the map, a single point in a wide expanse of forest. “Beneath the compound is a complex sewer system that was used to transport goods and high profile inmates. Whatever’s going on, it might be hiding in there. Once we have a better sense of scoop, we’ll send for reinforcements.”

“Found it!” Esther shouted from the bedside, triumphantly lifting a small folded square from the--now much larger--pile of papers on the bed. Seeing the momentary shock of her fellow agents faces, she hid it behind her back and gave a sheepish smile, then moved to rejoin them, stopping around the table to holster her shotgun in the sling on her back. 

Kate, recovered from her shock, gave them a sweet smile, “Just get in, see if there’s signs of activity, get out. Should be smooth sailing. Even for you two!” 

Her matronly smile didn’t _quite _soften the insult.__

____

____

* * *

There was a clear line where the cultivated path ended, and the forest began. For miles in a straight line, narrow cypresses had taken root. The late afternoon sun was already hanging low and lethargic in the sky, casting a hazy diffused light across the sky, harshly defining the sharp tips of the cypress. Their looming, dense foliage spoke louder than any sign, more menacing than any guard. _Do not cross. Stay away. Turn back. _Esther wondered if some warden had planted them purposefully; One final wall to separate the inmates from the rest of the world, from the sights and sounds of the villages that had simply forgotten them.__

____

____

Between the road and the wall of trees, however, was a wide field. And resting defiantly in its center was a small cottage. A middle aged man sagged heavily in a rocking chair, hunting rifle across his lap and snoring bloodhound beside his feet. He watched them warily as they marched through the field to the barrier of trees. 

Beside her, Esther saw Abel hunch down low. He always did that when he was trying to look harmless. “Good Afternoon Sir! I hope it’s alright for us to pass through here. We just need to go--” but the man interrupted him with a snort, his voice such a rough and low bark that Esther had thought the dog was chiming in. 

“I know where you’re going. It’s the only thing in there. But, that place is all wrong...and the folk that wander in end up wrong too” If at all possible, the man sunk even lower in his chair, his body seeming to reject even the thought of moving beyond the trees. 

In spite of the man’s visibly mounting anxiety, Esther took a few tentative steps towards him, keeping an eye on the gun resting in his lap “What do you mean ‘wrong’? What happens to them?” Even though she spoke softly, the man tightened his grip on the rifle, eyes darting between her and Abel. 

“They see things. Stuff they want real bad. We’ve had to drag people out kicking and screaming. And the longer you stay, the worse it gets” the man’s hands were shaking now, his white-knuckled grip emphasizing the blue veins of his pale, gnarled hands. 

“What?! How long has this been going on?” Esther took a few more steps forward, quickly now, voice raised in shock at the man’s cryptic warning. _This is more than just kidnappings. All these people know something and they’re just letting it happen! _“Please, Sir, is there anything else--"__

_____ _

_____ _

But the man had sprung out of his rocking chain, the old wood and his older bones giving off several loud creaking pops in protest, none of which stopped him from cocking the rifle. Even the bloodhound snapped to attention, though Esther could think of few things _less _threatening than its droopy, cock-eyed snarl.__

____

____

“We don't need more problems.” he spat out at her, staring down from his raised porch. Esther stood her ground, prepared to show him just how much of a problem she could be, when a hand wrapped around her upper bicep, tugging her out of the man’s line of sight.

Abel held her tucked into his side as he spoke up at the man, his voice low and strained. Pressed so close against him, she could almost feel the heavy vibrations of his growl. “And we’ll be sure not to give you any. _Thank you _for your concern.” And with that he silently led them away, eyes forward as one hand stayed on Esther and the other lingered on the holster of his revolver.__

____

____

As they passed under the heavy shade of the cypress, he spoke up again, voice soft as he released her arm, “I know this is frustrating, but there’s enough on our plate as is. Besides, he seemed...unwell”

Esther’s eyes were downcast, hand smoothing down the fabric of her sleeve, “It’s not just _him _, Father Nightroad; This entire town is turning a blind eye to...something!” Slashing her hand back down with a snarl, she marched further into the woods but she spared one last look behind them. At the border of trees a young girl curled around a narrow trunk to watch them depart, her wide eyes red and heavy with overspent tears. But as they locked eyes, she ducked behind the tree and was gone.__

____

____

They continued forward through uneasy terrain, the scattered patches of hulking trees upending the soil before smoothing out into fields of tall grass. Occasionally, Esther could make out stone and debris with sharper corners than the average wayward boulder; remains of some ancient town, lost to Armageddon but repurposed by Nature. But, save for the dig and drag of their footsteps, the forest was silent; no animals darted through their path and even the sky above was empty, with not a single cloud or bird to blemish the endless blue.

They didn't so much as find the facility as they did slowly meander into it. One moment, they were being shaded by the sparse branches of wild olive trees, and the next they were stepping out onto fractured concrete. And there it was, all around them with a presence that tried to smother.

The facility had, at one point, been a large central stone building with a rectangular design that boxed in a central outdoor space. In that meager courtyard, four guard towers had loomed overhead. Each stone wing had been topped by sloping wooden roofs and supported by heavy beams of metal and oak. But, when the fire came, it all meant nothing. Stone, wood, metal, and flesh; it all burned away.

Left behind was the crumbled stone, which had toppled over when the supports were gone. These rows of rubble framed the ashes that littered the grounds, the charred black earth never relenting to any new growth. Jagged metal, twisted from the heat, had crashed into the ground below, and had remained embedded upright for decades. 

According to the blueprints that Kate had given them, they were standing in front of the remains of the Main Reception Hall, where prisoners and patients were received and divided amongst the wings. And it was here they split up to search, Abel poking around a twisted structure that _might _have been stairs, and Esther moving beyond the center of the ruined room.__

____

____

Esther pulled out her own copy of the sewer blueprints. While they also had a copy of the main building layout, no underground entrance had ever been marked down. The sewer spread outward in a radial pattern, like spokes on a wheel. It reached nearly five kilometers to the North and East, connecting to the neighboring towns, while West and South reached for the coastal cliffs, to dump out into the sea.

_Now,_ Esther asked herself as she walked around a semicircle of shattered glass, _If I were an uncaring hospital staff member, where would I hide a secret tunnel?_ She thought about the Receptions Hall’s purpose; to divide and organize. They would have known right away whether someone was to be put away for life, or if they’d have visitors next week. So, why not place them aside early? Send away everyone who’d be missed to their respective wards and set aside the workers for later. 

_____ _

_____ _

Beyond the crushed glass--the receptionist’s office?--was the remains of a metal doorframe, held in place by the fractured concrete wall on either side. Esther tried to open the door, bracing her shoulder against it and pushing, but the fire had welded the frame shut. She settled for climbing over the broken wall, careful to not get the heel of her leather boot caught in the porous stone.

And there it was. They hadn’t even bothered to hide it.

“Father Nightroad!” she called out to her partner, still visible behind the low wall she’d scaled, “I found the tunnel.” Inlaid in the concert courtyard was a neat rectangle, set nearly six feet deep into the ground. Closest to where Esther stood, steep stone steps led down into the hole. At their base; an iron door, slightly ajar.

Had they kept it here as a silent threat? Or just for convenience?

While staring down at the passageway, Esther heard crunching glass and a muffled thud as Abel arrive noisily behind her. Without turning, she parroted the order Kate had relayed just a few hours before, “Get in, see if there’s signs of activity, get out.” She craned her neck to look directly above at her hovering partner, meeting his eyes, “Shouldn’t be too bad, right?”

He gave a nervous smile, brows furrowing slightly before giving a quick nod. He stepped around to face her and loudly cleared his throat. Then, he bowed low before her, so low that the stole across his neck dragged in the dirt, and his messy ponytail was making a valiant effort to follow “After you, my dear!” 

Esther couldn't help but giggle at his theatrics. It helped to lighten the oppressive atmosphere of the ruins the towered above, as though nothing truly evil could creep up on them when Abel was being so...silly. 

She responded with a curtsy of her own, pulling the edges of her skirt so high they almost met her shoulders “Oh _no _, Father. Age before beauty, I insist!”__

____

____

It was a silent standoff as they held their poses, the shadow of the tower washing out their colors, leaving them the same shade as the dull grey stone around them. Just two statues eternally greeting one another, never taking another step. For an absurd moment, Esther wondered if they could simply...stay that way; never venturing into the dark below, never leaving the tranquil forest, never having to fight terrorists or monsters or men again. Two statues who could only be moved by the rain and wind that eroded them down, until the damage cast the illusion that they’d finally lowered their hands. 

Abel broke the spell first, standing upright to pat himself clean and march past her to reach the sunken stairway. After a few steps he was level with her, and she could see an embarrassed flush that spread from beneath his collar to tinge the tips of his ears. _I suppose no one likes to be reminded of their age. _And with that benign thought she followed him down into the tunnel.__

____

____

Down into the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i actually got really into TB last October👻 as my yearly "pick a new horror-ish something." Little did i know it would be all my niche interests mashed into one👾💀🤖💖🦇. now im here, producing Content for a fandom for the first time ever. I've got this all planned out so lets see how it goes!✌👽


	2. from the dimlit halls of other places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s see how many wild assumptions I can make about military-esque power structures 👽✌️

_Within the halls of the archive, filed neatly beside an incident report that had been sanitized and forgotten, there are two flyers. Aged and marred, they are just barely legible, and the photos on both are beyond salvaging.  
they read;_

M I S S I N G I N A C T I O N

**LAST NAME:** █████████  
 **FIRST NAME:** █████  
 **MISSING SINCE:** 1/25/██  
 **MISSING FROM:** 30km r di s sur ou ing Provin of Na les. Victim isapp ared in route to Vati n ity.  
 **AGE AT DISAPPEARANCE:** 64  
 **IDENTIFYING CHARACTERISTICS:** Pro ounced catar in right eye; armed wit halberd; we r ng th emble of the D pa me t of Inqui ion; aveling wit yo ap rentice.  
 **CIRCUMSTANCES OF DISAPPEARANCE:** After departing from t e city of Napl , Br ther █████ █████████ fail to bo d priv t air ft at P vince of Cas ta, le than 35km fro his last known ation. █████████ had om leted a miss on in N ples and was see by locals l ving the city.

M I S S I N G I N A C T I O N

**LAST NAME:** █████████  
 **FIRST NAME:** █████  
 **MISSING SINCE:** 1/25/██  
 **MISSING FROM:** 30 radiu s rroundi g Provi ce of Na es. V tim disap eare in route to tican City  
 **AGE AT DISAPPEARANCE:** 14  
 **IDENTIFYING CHARACTERISTICS:** Miss ng left ind finge and thumb; a ed with pistols; wearing the blem of the e artment of quisition; traveling ith se ior officer.  
 **CIRCUMSTANCES OF DISAPPEARANCE:** ter depar ing from th city of aples, B other █████ █████████ fai ed to board priva e ai craft at Prov n e of Caserta, less 35km from last known location. █████████ ha complete a missi n in Naples and w seen by l als l aving the city,

**If you have any information on the whereabouts of █████ █████████ and/or █████ █████████ please contact your local Department of Inquisitorial Public Services**

Though there was no one there with her, Sister Kate found she was not quite ready to leave the room.

She’d “seated” herself at the small table of the room Sister Esther and Father Nightroad had procured, aimlessly searching through file after file of reports from the Provincial Council of Naples, looking for any past incident that could be related to the disappearances that were plaguing the region.

It was something that could’ve easily been done on the deck of her gondola, or in her engineering sector, or her docking bay, or even in the mental subspace she retreated to when her form _wasn’t_ being displayed anywhere. 

No screens.

No people.

No body.

Just her thoughts—and in that state, she was _only_ her thoughts.

It was…nice to just exist by herself for a moment. To just be an individual occupying space, regardless of whether or not someone had summoned her to scan for hostiles or prepare tea, or—

 _Northern facing wind speed accelerating at a rate of 5m/s2 adjust forward momentum by 12° southwest to maintain current course_

–help conduct an investigation. 

In truth, Kate found herself a little afraid of those instances in between materializing. Those barest of moments when she was in one room, alive and existing, only to then…not.

Such a shame that being a hologram didn’t quite erase that lurch of nausea that crept up beside her as the surroundings that seemed—that _were_ —so real, so concrete, so impenetrable, simply blinked out of existence. Replaced with another room and another false sense of the firm ground beneath her feet. She had no wall to lean against, no handkerchief to press to her lips—

_Cessnahawks hailing main bridge opening composite craft docking bay 1-4 deploy exterior retrieval rig_

—No friend to lean on.

That’s what was so nice about being up in the air, higher than the clouds. Even with feet planted firmly on steel, the endless sky stole away that peaceful reality and left behind the stomach-dropping rush of weightlessness. That feeling had always followed her, body or not. It was far more comfortable to pass through the air, not with the sudden shift of all reality orbiting around her center, but the graceful glide of her hull, and the quiet chatter she could hear—could feel—as her service crew milled about the cabin

 _Now that I think of it though,_ Kate mused as she scanned through yet another newspaper article announcing a festival to be held in honor of a late autumn harvest, _isn’t it a little…too quiet? I just let in that fleet of Cessnahawks. Their unit commander should have checked in with me alread—_

_Internal transmission from docking bay “Captain? Captain!? Please we need help down here something’s wrong with one of the pilots plea—“_

She didn’t even wait for them to finish, pushing past that millisecond of fear as she simply…stopped existing within that small room.

Entered that quiet, private, empty place of just thoughts, memories, and, if she forced herself to focus, the dull beat of her own heart, hundreds of kilometers away—

And reappeared behind a small crowd that had formed in the lowest level of her gondola; the docking bay for all composite and visiting aircraft. A throng of engineers and staff were gathered around one of the small reconnaissance planes that she housed within herself, and she heard shouts calling from above as those walking along the gangplanks threw questions down below.

Squaring her shoulders, Kate tapped into the intercoms that were scattered throughout the docking bay, projecting her voice throughout the entire level, “What in God’s name is going on here?” 

At the boom of her voice the entire crowd turned to face her, and Kate saw what they’d been huddled around; several of the crew had taken bolt cutters and crowbars to the metal frame of the door, trying to pry it open. As they moved aside, she could just make out the window of the cockpit but strained to see the pilot behind the reinforced glass. Something dark had been smeared across the inside of the glass in frantic streaks, obscuring her view. 

One of the engineers had snapped out of their shock and rushed up to meet her, skidding to a stop and throwing up a hasty salute that smeared oil above their right brow, “Captain Scott, Ma’am!”

Kate gave them a cursory glance—the embroidery on their coveralls read _Flight Engineer Sullivan_ in small, neat script—before marching towards the plane, “At Ease. Explain what’s going on, now. And the rest of you!” she spread her arm out wide as she gestured to the crewmembers who were still gawking from above, “Go relieve the other pilots from the retrieval rigs! Make sure they’re alright!” Those above scattered, some making their way down to the other Cessnahawks, others returning to their posts monitoring the Iron Maiden’s inner workings. 

From behind, she heard Sullivan begin to speak, “Flight Sergeant Clarke is trapped inside her aircraft. One of the wings appears to be damaged and…” Sullivan trailed off and when Kate turned to face them, their eyes were unfocused and afraid “She’s hurt, Ma’am. Bleeding heavy from somewhere. She’s unresponsive.” 

Kate stood beside the entrance to the cockpit, and to her right she could see that the left wing and a deep dent in it from where something had crashed into its underside. A small brownish red stain, glossy and wet, was just barely visible against the tilted wings. She spared the windows, blotted out almost completely with those dark smears, a quick appraisal before facing the young engineer, “F.E. Sullivan.”

Sullivan snapped to attention quickly, saluting with the wrong hand and giving themself a matching oil smear over their left brow “Y-yes Ma’am!

Kate gave a small smile at their vigor and addressed them softly, “Please have a medic on standby. I’ll be retrieving Clarke shortly.” And with that she strode towards the plane, _through_ the plane; passing through the metal cockpit as easily as mist. 

Sister Kate Scott had seen much carnage during her years of service to the Vatican. She had brought it down on others and, been brought down in turn. Compared to those years of rending and ripping and bombing and breaking, Flight Sergeant Amanda Clarke’s wound was almost trivial by comparison.

But her body.

It was her body that made Kate pause. 

_Is that how I looked?_ Kate wondered as she looked down at the woman: her body slumped forward, held up only by the harness that crisscrossed over her chest. She’d undone the straps of her oxygen mask, and it hung haphazardly from her neck. From where her arms dangled at her sides, Kate could see both gloves were soaked through with blood, likely from applying pressure to whatever wound completely covered her right knee.

Not allowing herself to be dragged away by her memories—she was a _professional_ for God’s sake—Kate moved closer to the unconscious woman and spoke directly in her ear, quiet so as not to shock her. 

“Sergeant.” 

Nothing. Ok then, a little louder.

“Sergeant?” 

Still nothing. Alright, well, shocked is better than dead. 

_“Sergeant!_

The woman awoke with a start, jerking forward in her seat against the straps of her harness. Her eyes where wide, pupils dilated and darting across the cabin as she drew in shaky, wheezing breaths. She appeared to be looking for something, but when her eyes settled on Kate they stayed there, fixed firmly on her alone. But the strength in her eyes was not reflected in her body, and she remained slumped heavily in the seat. 

Kate allowed her a few more moments to steady her breathing before speaking, “The door is sealed shut. If we’re getting you out of here, you need to undo the emergency latch.” She looked to her right where the large red latch stood out harshly against the bright silver of the metal. “Can you do it?”

Sergeant Clarke drew in a deep breath and nodded stiffly, her brow furrowed in pain as she brought a gloved hand up to the upper straps of her harness and clumsily undid the buckle. As she shifted her body out of the loose straps, leaning heavily against the side of her seat, Kate kept a close eye on her wounded leg, though the dark olive of her flight suit—even darker soaked in blood—revealed little. 

“What happened?” 

Clarke had turned her back to Kate as she hefted herself up with the railing that ran along the ceiling, but she stilled at her question, head hanging low as she replied in a fragile and unsteady voice “I…I shot myself, Ma’am.” 

Kate was stunned, by the statement and the dazed manner it was delivered in, almost like Clarke herself was trying to piece things together. “Now, why on Earth would you do something as terrible as that?” Kate tried to keep her voice even and calm, trying discreetly to see where Clarke had left her gun. 

“I needed to stop it.” 

“Stop what?” She couldn’t see the gun. Did she still have it?

Clarke was silent as she finally reached the safety latch of the emergency exit, but when she spoke next it was not to answer Kate’s question 

“it was on top of my leg. I couldn’t get it off so I…shot straight down.” As soon as she’d pulled the latch free of its’ slot, Clarke slumped down onto the floor, wincing sharply as her knee landed hard against the metal flooring.

Before Kate could question her further, the door of the Cessnahawk had swung outward, the lingering crowd giving a muffled cheer as two of the ship’s medical staff made their way inside, spotting Clarke on the floor and moving towards her. Kate had remained close to the pilot’s chair, and with her focus no longer solely on Clarke, she saw something that had slipped her notice.

The blood coating the window was old, but it still retained that vibrant maroon coloring that came straight from the veins. Each erratic streak had started as a small handprint, then dragged harshly down. It was certainly from Clarke, if her hands were any indication. But, below the seat there was something else; it might’ve been another puddle of Clarke’s blood, had the color not been such a dark brown. And, unlike the already drying and gel-like blood on the windows, thick with clots, it showed no signs of coagulation, running in thin trails towards the back of the plane. 

The medics had finished hefting Clarke out of the plane, and Kate followed closely behind them as they eased her onto a waiting stretcher. But Clarke was restless, shifting sharply when they touched her and muttering quietly to herself. It hurt not to be able to help, to bare some of the burden of Clarke’s weight, or to press her fingers against the woman’s brow and ease the harsh lines there. But it was an old pain, as familiar as the creases on her skin, and just as easily overlooked. 

“I’m…sorry,” Clarke still spoke softly, but as Kate leaned closer so as to be seen, her voice regained some strength, “I don’t know why I took it, Ma’am.” 

Clarke tried taking deep breaths, but each exhale came out as rougher and rougher coughs, that only seemed to exhaust her, “Something happened to the wing and I needed to land, and it was just lying there and I wanted to help it so badly. But once we were in the air it started clambering all over me, I had to stop it…I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’m so—” She had started to hyperventilate, trying hard to sit up as the medics around her gently pushed her shoulders back against the stretcher.

As Kate gazed down at her, she tried hard to fill her gaze with the gentleness her hands could not provide, “I can’t say I know what you’re apologizing for. But there’ll be time to discuss it later. For now, please rest.” Perhaps this placated Clarke, or perhaps the blood loss had left her too weak to protest, but she finally lowered her head. Kate nodded towards the medics, and they raised the stretcher up on its scissor-lift and slowly wheeled Sergeant Clarke out of the docking bay.

Sister Kate Scott could now pursue three very general theories: 1) this was a long-term condition that was now manifesting physically, 2) this was a reaction to some kind of stimuli, or 3) something had _actually_ been inside the plane with Clarke.

And, if she’d shot it midflight, it would still be there.

 _Well,_ Kate thought, shooting a glance at the plane parked innocently in the hanger, _at least one of those can be tested right away._

Kate made her way back to the plane where a small gaggle of engineers were still preoccupied with examining the dent on the wing positioned high over the entrance. Kate nodded to them as she stepped back into the cockpit.

With Clarke out of the way and—relatively—safe, she could focus more clearly on what that…fluid was. And, where the gun had gone.

Keeping her scanners focused on the immediate area, Kate failed to find any life signatures besides the ones of the engineers just beyond the curved steel walls. 

Deciding the plane was either empty or carrying a corpse, Kate strode in unbothered. While the light from the docking bay was unable to permeate the deep shadows of compartment, she only needed a few moments with the puddle to—

She heard breathing, ragged and wet. Its rhythm broken by the scraping and popping of teeth against metal. She had lost the sensation of touch, and yet she could feel the sound inside her mouth, a nauseating caress that lingered on her teeth and fluttered down her sternum.

Kate turned sharply, and what she saw…she could not see.

 _No. This can’t be right._ Kate’s eyes could no longer see images as they were often seen by human beings. Any picture transmitted to the mind that slept beneath Rome had to be reconstructed, bit by bit into the language of lighting that her neurons spoke. _So why…why can’t I see it?_ Kate tried to hold back a mounting sense of panic as she looked upon this…thing.

What she _could_ see was the gun, as it was broken down and taken in bit by bit by its…jaw? Paws? There was no distinction in its body. Just the impression of presence and weight, and the suggestion of a mouth and white mangy mane that endlessly shifted, spilling over itself into itself away from itself.

Kate quickly backed away, knowing it could not truly hurt her but frightened of how easily it simply _slipped_ out of her mind. As she passed out of the doorway of the plane, the engineers who’d lingered behind looked up at her, and perhaps the panic leaked onto her face, because they approached her with worried glances between them.  
“Seal the plane. There’s an…animal inside. Lock it back in the extraction rig.” She remembered Clarke, her frantic apologies, the fear in her eyes; she’d felt _compelled_ … “Restrict the area so only authorized personal may approach.” She kept her orders clipped and concise, and though they shared a worried look between them, the engineers snapped to attention and nodded sharply. Praying they’d follow her orders to the letter, Kate stepped out of the docking bay, out of reality, into the subspace occupied only by her consciousness. 

At times it made her uncomfortable, but if it could put some distance between herself and the thing inside the plane…

Ah, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? Because she was everywhere, and it was inside her—like a tumor, growing unabated. 

Even now, as she unintentionally tried to recall what it had looked like—twisting body perfectly still its watching but with what _eyes_ —she found the feeling completely overwhelming, as though the network that supported her mind diverted everything to simply _processing_ what it had seen, leaving little else for all other functions. 

As she tried once again to quiet her mind, Kate decided that this was a problem she didn’t want to handle alone, and she was unwilling to expose her crew—better suited to air support than containment—to that thing again.

So, she considered her options…

Father Nightroad and Sister Esther, barely a half hour into their journey.

Lady Caterina and Gunslinger, holding down the fort back home.

Dandelion, probably already “escorted” back to his cell.

Sword Dancer? Hard to even guess.

And Professor…

Her decision made, Kate accessed the familiar private frequency that he always left open for emergencies, made the connection…and anxiously waited. 

Just a few moments later, there was a sharp click as her message was received, and there he was, looking quite relaxed despite the high-speed winds whipping the collar of his cassock and his short, dark hair into a furious flutter around his head. From her view on the screen below, Kate saw he was nodding along to something and staring straight ahead with a dreamy look in his eyes, though whatever he was listening to was drowned out by the rushing wind. Kate called out tentatively, not wanting to startle him while he was _apparently_ driving outrageously fast, “William?”

William Walter Wordsworth answered back loudly, voice strong and gleeful as he shot a glance down towards her, “Good afternoon, my dear! And how are you this fine day?” He tried for another, longer glance, but she lost sight of him for a moment as he ducked to the left, tugging hard on the steering wheel to veer away from something she couldn’t see. After he’d steadied his course, he kept his eyes more firmly on the road, though they still darted down every few moments to steal a glance, and his easy-going smile, thin and wide, made it clear he was unbothered by the situation . 

Kate found her earlier panic soothed a bit by his relaxed demeanor, though her question still carried a slight tremor from her earlier encounter, “William, where are you?” She thought she might need to speak up to be heard over the wind, but he carried along as though they side by side. 

“Oh, well it’s been smooth sailing and I’m nearly to Rome. And, since I’m early I was thinking of assigning an optional extra cred—”

“I need you here. Now.” Best to just come right out with it. As much as she enjoyed their talks, William could go on and on about his students. Apparently, this semester’s batch was wonderfully enthusiastic. Though, a “wonderful” thing in William’s eyes registered more as “hazardous” in the eyes of the University of Rome.

He sent her a lingering look, eyes wide, but it was broken by another sharp veer, this time to the right. When he righted himself once more, the shock was gone and replaced by an overly exaggerated look of scandalized horror, “Goodness, Kate that’s rather forward of you. I’m not sure I’m ready to—"

“William, Please. There’s something in the _Iron Maiden_. An animal. It attacked one of my reconnaissance pilots and I’ve isolated it in her ship but I…I would feel much better if you could take a look at it. 

“What…kind of animal?” He asked slowly 

Ah, here was the part she’d been dreading, “I don’t know? I can’t…I can’t see it! My scanners, it’s like they can’t process what’s there and the pilot she…she felt _compelled_ to take it and what if it _hurts someone_ I—" She couldn’t stop seeing Clarke, her face when she’d woken up: like she’d been locked in a room with the Devil himself 

“Kate! Kate, my dear. One problem at a time. If this is really worrying you so much, then of course I’ll make my way down, quick as can be. Though I’ll need you to bear with it for a few hours.” William had looked away from the road again, fiddling with a few dials situated below the screen she appeared on, though a loud honk startled him back to the wheel.

Kate already felt some of the tension leave her, the deep pounding in her head that had risen up when she’d tried to see the creature was fading, if only slightly, “Thank you, William. I…felt a bit silly asking, but it’s just so peculiar.” She thought of the disappearances, the standoffish residents, the _fire,_ “This whole town is peculiar,” She muttered quietly.

But William carried on, almost breathless with excitement, “In fact! This could be a golden opportunity. I get to brush up on my monophyletic groups by identifying our mysterious intruder, and maybe I can spin this into an extra credit assignment!”

“I thought the class was Rhetorical Strategies in Ancient Literature?”

“It’s always important to branch out! Scientific writing is a very practical steppingstone.”

Kate sighed, hoping for his student’s sake that they read their syllabus _very_ carefully, before wishing him well, “I’ll see you soon, William.” One moment he was calling out his own farewell, and the next he was gone, leaving Kate alone once again in her subspace; just her and her memories for company, no matter how unpleasant.

**Below**

There had been little light shining down into the underground passageway when they’d began their descent, so Esther had little to go on when trying to gauge just how far down the journey would take them.

Thankfully, while the steep, slightly damp stone steps had made traversing difficult—she’d seen Father Nightroad slip _twice_ —it had taken only a few minutes to carefully make their way to the bottom. Before they’d reached the landing, Esther glanced over her shoulder to the small square of light that marked the tunnel’s entrance. If she had to guess how deep they were, it was perhaps fifteen meters straight down, directly beneath the inner courtyard of the prison.

As she considered the doorway above them, still lingering on one of the final steps, a sharp _SPLASH_ caught her attention. Father Nightroad had stepped out onto the landing, his heavy boots sending ripples throughout the water that flooded the entire area nearly to his ankle. 

He’d paused right in front of the stairway, blocking her path as he looked down at his boots and then over at her dejectedly. “My socks got wet,” he lamented with a heavy sigh, and he no doubt would have kept bemoaning his bad luck if she hadn’t taken the initiative, using the rare leverage to place a hand between his shoulder blades and firmly _push_ him forward. 

Abel fell forward with a yelp as he nearly lost his balance, but Esther paid it little mind as she carefully strode forward, looking around them. 

The platform they stood on was small, with an arched exit directly in front of them that led to what she assumed to be the main passageway. All around them, the remains of wooden crates, some completely sodden and nearly disintegrating into the stagnant water, others resting high and dry away from the danger at the top of the stacks. From the most soaked piles, came the heady sweet scent of rotting wood, but thankfully the cold air flowing through the tunnel kept the smell from being too overwhelming. Spilling out of the open crates, plain short-sleeved shirts and long cotton pants clumped together in soppy piles. Every garment was the same eggshell white, though it was hidden underneath the thin layers of dark green moss that covered anything wet. 

Esther found it odd that, without preparing any kind of light, she was still able to see so clearly.

“Father Nightroad?” Esther called for him quietly, wanting to see what he thought of the dim light that seemed to surround them, but wary of what else might hear. “What do you see?”

He’d stopped his splashing and blinked owlishly at her before also looking around the flooded room, “Well I see a bunch of nasty old boxes, some rotten clothes, a bunch of…plants? And…” his eyes widen as he noticed what she had, “A light? It’s making everything kind of _greenish_ though.” 

_Green?_ She hadn’t noticed that, but perhaps being…enhanced as he was made colors stand out more clearly. 

Abel seemed unbothered by the light however, and he strode forward confidently—and loudly—towards the exit, down a single step, and out onto the main path, looking left, right, and then back towards Esther, gesturing for her to come closer.

As she did, she realized why he was being so nonchalant. Without the walls of the small room surrounding them, she could hear the steady and loud rush of water. Even though the sewer system had been closed off and abandoned, something was still feeding water into its tunnels. Though it had overflowed out of its inlaid trough, the pathways to either side made the flood manageable. There was little need to be quiet when every ripple was overshadowed by a rushing wave.

Feeling safe to make at least a small amount of noise, Esther unshouldered the pack she carried; a sturdy leather bag with a holster for her shotgun along its side and a main compartment reserved for supplies, ammunition, and emergency rations. From here she pulled out the folded map that Sister Kate had provided, “According to this, North and East both lead to towns, so if we head right, we should eventually reach another room like the one we came from.”

While she’d been speaking, Abel had turned away from her to face the other end of the tunnel, “And what’s to the left?” 

Following the stark white lines of the blueprints with her finger, Esther could see nothing remarkable, “Eventually, the tunnels empty out into the ocean. There aren’t any platforms or side rooms that way, just a long sewer line that was _actually_ being used as just a plain old sewer.”

“Just a tunnel?” He sounded doubtful, staring hard down the path to their left. Down that way, the walls were the same grey stone that surrounded them now, and though Esther couldn’t see too far ahead, she did notice that it was from there that the water flowed towards them. Abel spoke up again, content to move on without a response, and his voice was laced with that saccharine cheer that felt more artificial than the sugar he loaded into his drinks, “Well, let’s get a move on!”

She was disappointed, but not entirely surprised; After their mission in Carthage, Esther had hoped that he would trust her more with his feelings, and at times it seemed that he had carved out a place in his heart for her. But habits leave deep tracks inside a person, and Abel was more comfortable keeping his worries to himself.

It was either her prolonged silence, or the burn of a stare on his back that made Abel turn back to look at her. He spoke in a soothing voice, less performance and more sincerity, “It’s nothing. Honest, Miss Esther. That side’s just creepy is all! Gives me the willies.”

She stared at him for a moment with narrowed eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to stay annoyed. Now wasn’t the time. _I want to know,_ Esther thought as she passed by him, hoping he could sense the honest desire she had to help, to be there for him, to ease the burden. _But I’ll never force you._

She stopped suddenly in her tracks, “Oh! I almost forgot.” She rummaged through her pack once more, and this time pulled out a small folded square of paper; the one she’d been searching for back at the inn. “Take a good look at this!” She exclaimed, unfolding it as she pushed it up towards Abel’s face, pressing it close enough so that it was all he saw.

“W-what is it?” 

“Its Johannes Acker’s son, Ivan.” She replied, drawing back slightly so he could better make out the small slip of paper. “I couldn’t bare asking him to part with a photo. He barely had any pictures up at all. I doubt he had spares. This is from the incident report that he sent in.” She looked down at the picture; it seemed to be a passport photo, a young boy staring blankly straight ahead against a bright blue backdrop, thick waves of dark hair framing his round face, with a smattering of dense freckles across his nose and cheeks. “Ivan’s disappearance is _the_ most recent of them all, so I’m…I’m hoping he’s unhurt. And I want you to be able to recognize him right away if that’s the case!”

Abel had been nodding along at her explanation, and smiled good-naturedly at her demand, “Right. I understand.” He held out his hand to receive the photo, and after staring at it intently, gingerly slipped it into one of the deep pockets of his cassock. 

And with that, they continued on their mission through the tunnel, the scenery unchanging: The water continued its steady rush about their ankles, the harsh stone showed no signs of faltering, and despite being far from where they’d first noticed it, the soft light never abated, though it seemed to become slightly dimmer at random. But, with nowhere to go but forward or back, continuing onwards equated to investigating the source. What also followed them, was that scent of wood rot, though they hadn’t seen a single plank of wood since the first room.

Abel had taken the lead, though his stride had begun to slow, and his shoulders were drooping lower and lower as they walked. While they had been keeping mostly silent, Abel let out a muffled groan, clutching at his stomach.

“What?” She recognized that sound. It always meant trouble, usually for her.

“Oh, it’s just…It completely slipped my mind to eat” Esther gave a harsh snort “ _my fill_ before we left and I’m starting to feel a tad weak.” Esther resolutely marched past him, chin raised high while he slumped down low. If he asked what she _thought_ he was going to ask, “Hey, Miss Esther, you usually pack enough rations for the both of us, right? Would you mind terribly letting me have just a little? And there it was. 

“Father Nightroad, these are _emergency_ rations for if we get _stuck_ down here, not your spare lunch! She kept marching ahead. While she knew how important it was for him to satisfy that hearty appetite of his, she also knew that he tended to exaggerate when he was feeling even slightly peckish

“Fine,” he grumbled out in a defeated tone. He’d given up so quickly that she _knew_ he was fine, but he still wasn’t following. “I’ll just skip to dessert!”

Esther turned around slowly when she heard him start to rummage around in his pockets, before triumphantly pulling out a small white container. When he flipped open the lid, she saw the center was embossed with a bright red plus sign. She could practically _hear_ the muscles in her jaw tensing, “Father Nightroad, if you replaced the bandages with candy again…I’m going to strangle you.” 

He had a truffle halfway to his mouth before snapping it shut with an audible _click_ , looking frightened for just a moment. It didn’t last though, and he shot her a grin far too wicked for a man of his station. 

“You can’t reach”

Perhaps the statement didn’t warrant her lunging at him, but she’d done worse and so had he. Before Esther could reach him however, a sound broke through her splashing steps and the rushing waves. It was the low sound of stone scraping against stone, dragging on for a few moments, during which the two stared at one another in shock. Their stupor was broken by an echoing _thud_ , followed the scraping stone again.

When Abel spoke, it was so softly that she stained to hear him, “What’s up ahead?”

Esther didn’t even need to check the map; they’d been heading for this stop the entire time. “It’s the second platform.” He nodded before drawing his revolver, moving to hug the wall and edging forward. He’d barely gone a meter ahead and was already out of sight, so Esther rushed to take up the rear, drawing her shotgun to rest low at her hip.

Abel reached the room first, and by his posture she could tell there was no obvious danger, but she hesitated to holster her weapon. He took a few more moments to look up at the high ceiling of the platform, before holstering his revolver and stepping out towards the center of the room.

It was different than the one they’d come in through. Free of any debris, it had the same grey stone as the main tunnel they’d been traveling in, but rather then a set of stairs leading up and away, a rusted ladder bolted to the far wall served as the only other exit.

Or at least…it had. The rust had so badly corroded the metal that the lower half had fallen away from the wall, leaving the next available rung nearly three meters above them. Esther moved closer to the broken ladder, carefully sidestepping the lower half that had fallen to the floor, and looked up. She strained her eyes, waiting for a flicker of movement or the burst of light as whoever had been here made their way outside. But no shift, or sound, or light ever came; even the all-encompassing light that surrounded every inch of the tunnel could not shine any farther than the ceiling of the platform. 

While Esther was inspecting the ladder, Abel was moving along the four walls of the room, slowly inspecting each surface for some irregular pattern or blemish that would mark a loose stone. When both their searches yielded nothing, they moved towards the center of the room.

“I can’t see too far into the shaft leading out.” Esther said, finally holstering her shotgun, “but there’s no way something’d be able to climb that ladder without it making some kind of noise.”

“Or maybe they could. There were all those bangs, but I couldn’t hear a single footste—" Abel stop suddenly on his way towards her, looking down slowly, before taking a step back.

She followed his gaze and noticed that, though the room the same design and dimensions as the first one, it wasn’t flooded; As they’d focused on following the source of the noise, neither had noticed the silence around them. But the floors still had an even layer of moisture coating it, and already the splashing waves from the main tunnel were starting to leak back in.

Abel had crouched down, not bothering to continue his thought, and had begun to fiddle with the edges of the much larger stone tiles that served as the flooring. After a few moments of scrounging around on the floor, Abel rose sharply with a proud. “A-ha!” as he tugged something loose from the floor and proceeded to shove it in her face.

Taking a second to uncross her eyes, Esther saw something like a small white thread, tapering on the end, clutched between his thumb and forefinger. At the opposite end that had been severed, a dark brown substance oozed out thickly. 

Esther was still focusing on the thread when Abel took her hand, palm facing up, and placed it in the center, sending her a muttered, “Hold, please,” before crouching back down to his spot on the floor.

“There’s a bunch of those little guys growing out from under just this tile,” he said, scraping his fingers against the edges of one of the stone slabs, “They’re so small you can hardly see them, but they have to be coming from somewhere!” Seeing as he still fought with the stone, Esther moved to help him, wrapping the small thread—root?—in a handkerchief from her bag and tossing it inside. Working her much smaller fingers under the lip of the stone, she was just barely able to lift it, before Abel worked his hands under the gap she’d made. Taking ahold of the edge of the slap, he lifted it up and dragged it away, producing the same scraping sound that had drawn them here.

If it had eyes, It might’ve stared at them, but the head they saw down that hole lacked any features, save a wide and smooth mouth that began where one ear should’ve been, and ended near its nonexistent partner. Its skin was thin and near translucent, making the deep blue veins that framed the face stand out brightly, like the face paint a child might don at a festival.

As soon as she’d seen the head, Ester had braced herself for the smell of rotting flesh—rancid, pungent meat with an undertow of foul sweetness—but it never came. She could smell the patches of moss that grew along the walls, the copper scent of rust that coated the metal ladder, even faintly detect the sharp, cold scent of ozone that clung to Abel. But she smelled no meat, no blood. 

The head had been wrapped loosely in a blanket; wilted flower petals tucked into the folds of the cloth. The roots, far denser and easier to spot inside the hole, fanned out from some center point below the head. Altogether, the arrangement seemed cautiously sentimental, if not downright ceremonial, and was a clear sign that something else was down here; perhaps many somethings. The head couldn’t have buried _itself_.

Abel—who had stared down at the head with a mixture of shock and…disappointment? —rose to stand, extending a hand to help her up 

“I think this warrants re-grouping, don’t you?” Abel asked with a nervous smile, trying to keep his displeasure hidden as he gripped her hand more tightly. Esther nodded, returning the pressure with a reassuring squeeze of her own, before pulling away and heading for the exit. With one suspect dead, potential accomplices wandering the underground, and two-hundred people still lost, it was time to call reinforcements to do a more thorough sweep of the entire labyrinth. 

So, they moved out, back towards the main tunnel, back towards the light; happy to be leaving this deep dark place—if only for a moment—with its endless stone walls and empty rooms.

Because they had checked the room, and it _had_ been empty.

But now it was not.

**Above**

It had taken William less than three hours to arrive, but just knowing that some… _thing_ had been stewing inside of her, so unbearably close, had made the wait excruciatingly painful.

Kate had tried to pass the time by watching Father Nightroad and Sister Esther’s trek across the Naples countryside. Two tiny blips on a tracker that moved steadily farther and farther North before holding steady within the Prison’s borders. She’d been reluctant to check in with them, not trusting her voice to betray the unease she felt and unwilling to let her situation weigh upon her friends.

When their position had not moved, but the signal weakened from interference, she knew they had found the tunnel. She watched nervously as it grew weaker the farther they traveled into the pipeline, only the slightest shift coming from the slope of the entrance. Watching their descent had helped ease her mind, but her trance was broken as she felt William hail the _Iron Maiden_ for permission to board. 

She rematerialized on the boarding dock; one end was designated for retrieving any composite craft that had been deployed midair, while the other housed a large ramp that could be lowered for any larger vessels that were being received. Even though William’s car wasn’t much bigger than the Cessnahawks she housed, he…needed the extra room.

The ramps had yet to finish lowering before the sound of screeching rubber echoed all throughout the docking bay, the floor trembling a bit as the tires collided heavy against the bottom edge of the ramp; seems he hadn’t _quite_ stuck the landing. Once all four wheels had found traction on the treadplates, the entire contraption shot forward from the unequal momentum of the tires. The car rushed past her, the deployed wings just barely retracting in time to avoid hitting the actuator poles that had lowered the ramp, before screeching to a stop a good few meters behind were Kate stood. She gave the dark marks the tires had left a sour look, before materializing directly in front of the car.

William gave a few hacking coughs as he made his way out of the vehicle, the open door letting out a considerable cloud of black smoke. He walked over to the trunk as he spoke up, “Now, I’m sure it’s a bit later than you’d hoped, but the engine just doesn’t have a good enough ‘kick’ yet! I was thinking of trying hydrazine as…” his words trailed off as Kate stared at him, the track marks behind him, then him again. He cleared his throat, smiled sheepishly and pulled out a large suitcase from the trunk of the car; closing it let out another dark puff of smoke from the back seat. 

“So…” He drawled, making his way back around to her, “Where’s _The Animal_?” Anyone witnessing his theatrics might have assumed he was teasing her, but Kate recognized the spark of glee in his eyes, how the empty fist at his side kept clenching and unclenching, ready to pick a problem apart, piece by piece.

More than ready to have the matter settled, Kate turned to face the opposite end of the docking bay; having been dragged back to rest inside the extraction rig, the lead Cessnahawk sat silent in a cage of steel, tucked neatly into the farthest walls of the bay. She walked beside William to the plane, matching his long strides with little effort; she could’ve gotten there first and prepared the area, but found that standing beside someone calmed her nerves.

When they were just a little over a meter away from the plane, William stopped, unlatching his suitcase and opening it just a crack to pull out a folded pair of powder blue nitrile gloves and clear safety glasses. Kate had been watching as he donned them, but noticed something out of the corner of her eye. When she’d left the plane hours earlier, the windows had been almost completely obscured with the blood that Sergeant Clarke had smeared over every panel. 

Now, each window was perfectly clear. 

Kate turned about rapidly, looking for someone, anyone who could tell her why—there! “Excuse me!” she called out to an engineer who’d been bringing in supplies to one of the other metal cages, perhaps to tend to the other empty hawks. When she shouted, the young man stiffened and snapped to attention, shifting his crate of tools to his left side. “Who cleaned this plane? I specifically ordered that only those authorized may enter.” She kept her voice steady, but her eyes kept darting towards the plane; beside her, William had finished adjusting his safety gear, and looked at her curiously. 

The young man was shifting from foot to foot in an effort to keep his balance, never dropping the salute. “No one, ma’am! The entrance was sealed from the outside as soon as you left, ma’am!”

“Kate…” William whispered, leaning around her to look into her eyes, “What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know, I left it in there and it was filthy and now…” She’d gone quiet, straining every sensor she had to listen in on what might be going on inside the plane.

She didn’t have to listen hard.

A sharp _bark_ reverberated throughout the docking bay. Then again. And again. And again. On the final bark, the sound trailed off into a high-pitched whine, that warbled as it grew weaker.

Kate turned slowly around, facing the nosecone of the Cessnahawk head on. What stared back—with eyes thank God—was a dog.

It was tall and narrow, covered in a gleaming coat of pearly fur, with a long snout that curved downwards. The bones of its muzzle stood out harshly against the thin skin of its face. It had begun to scratch at the windows, leaning forward onto the control panel to drag dainty paws down the glass. The fur along its forelimbs, chest, and ears hung in long, feathery strands and shook wildly with each strained bark it let out.

She’d been stunned by the appearance of the animal, but whatever footing she’d found trying to process its presence was yanked out from under her when she looked closely at its head. As it shook and barked and bounded in the pilot’s chair, Kate saw that the left side of its head had nearly been caved in.

 _I needed to stop it,_

_I…shot straight down_

The young engineer, having seen the wound as well, started to walk briskly towards the plane, unrestrained worry clouding his eyes. Beside her, William’s arm shot out, blocking the engineer from getting any closer. “Didn’t you hear your Captain? Authorized persons only,” William whispered quietly to the engineer. Then, in a raised voice aimed at the plane, he nearly shouted, “That’s a nice trick you’ve got there!”

Inside the plane, the dog continued its frantic barking, taking breaks to scratch wildly at the glass panels.

“There’s just one problem though. Well…several problems really but those are a tad less distressing.” William rambled on, talking to the dog as though it might pipe in to defend itself at any moment. 

“I can’t say for certain what you _are_ , but I can say that no ordinary dog could experience such extensive blunt force trauma to the left side and continue prancing about on its right.” William wagged a finger at the dog, a reprimand that suited its form, “So how about dropping the act?”

All the while, Kate had watched the animal, trying to place the parts of its face that she saw now with what she saw then. But, after being addressed by William, the barking dog simply relaxed, its jaw falling slack mid-bark, forelimbs sliding limply down the glass to rest on the pilot seat. It did not bark, or whine, or pant. It remained rooted firmly to its seat, its small, dark eyes fixed on Kate. 

It moved forward suddenly, but the motion did not come from its body, from the shoulders or limbs. Its neck arched backwards, as though an entity all its own, the head hanging down loosely, before surging forward, ramming its head again and again and again into the glass. 

Each time the head made contact with the glass; a thin smear of a dark, oily substance was left behind. It would only last a few moments though, before evaporating into a fine, opaque mist that circled about the cabin. 

This went on; no one present willing to open that door and release whatever that mist was, whatever that _dog_ was. It went on until the banging fell silent, and a heavy thump rocked the plane gently as something inside fell to the floor and stayed there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR  
> 👽🦇 &⭐️ find 💀
> 
> 🐋&👨🏻🏫 VS 🐕😵


	3. in the black water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels late but its not like i'm running on a schedule 🤡🎉  
> now, time for more Wild Assumptions

* * *

_If one were to look past the censorship and the neglect and the manipulation, they might’ve found a series of accounts that were almost entirely unaltered since their acquisition._

_Almost._

_Still, they read…_

**Eyewitness Testimony of Salvatore ██████,**

I, Salvatore ████, of ███████ ████ █████, SAY AS FOLLOWS:

I hope you can appreciate just how well I’ve been handling things down here; This town is small, but the people can get frantic. 

I’ve done my part—I declared a curfew and I’m upping the patrol around the edges of town—now you need to hurry up and get that God-forsaken _cult_ out of here before they confuse people any worse. I don’t know how they dragged that many out there, but it ain’t normal. 

He shows up every day spouting his nonsense and begging people to go back with him. Sooner or later, someone’s gonna cave so they can see the folk who went missing.

The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be for the rest of us. 

_Statement Received by Sister Edna Burrows_  
_Statement Transcribed by Brother Paul Ediker_

**Eyewitness Testimony of Emelia ██████**

I, Julia ██████, of ████ ██████ █████, SAY AS FOLLOWS:

Are you ready? You’d better be, because I’m not coming down here again. You know how far I live out of town? Almost to the goddamn—oh don’t look at me like that—the Goddamn forest and I had to hike all the way out here. You shouldn’t make your elders work so hard; it isn’t right.

Anyway, yeah, I saw that brat. Hell, I see him every night. He walks past my cabin on his way back through the forest. All those folks are camped out somewhere back there. But, yeah, I see him. Through the window. And, every night he walks up to the door and knocks. Real soft. And I don’t say nothing, I don’t do nothing, I give him nothing. But he talks; says I’m “owed” something. He’ll go on and on about all the ways that bitch can help, and then he’ll just wander off. Creepy Bastard. 

But, he’s right you know.

I came to this country because Germanicus is shit; Prince William is burning a whole lotta bridges, and he don’t care whose left choking on smoke. I came here because I thought we’d be safe; I thought the church protected people. But instead of smoke, I’m choking on dirt. Nothing grows here. I’m a farmer and I can’t get one single thing to grow. My husband died, my daughter and her babies are starving and now this lunatic! —

I’m sorry.

I’m tired. 

He comes every night. 

_Statement Received by Sister Edna Burrows_  
_Statement Transcribed by Brother Paul Ediker_

**Eyewitness Testimony of Isabella ██████**

I, Isabella ██████, of ███ ███████ ████, SAY AS FOLLOWS:

I’m wasn’t sure if it was him at first. When…it…first happened, that man from your department came, and he brought that boy along. But they both left together, right as rain.

I…know the sheriff said to pay him no mind, but…he gives his little sermons right in front of the fountain, and my shop faces him dead on. It’s hard not to listen!

He caught me listening once; He had his back to me and was shouting, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to watch. But then he just _stops_ talking and spins around. Now he’s looking at _me_. 

He walks right up to the door and put his hands up against the glass and just looked at me. That’s when I knew for sure it was the same boy; his hand’s busted up in the same way, but now his head’s all busted up too.

He smiled, real big. All teeth and gums. Then he left.

Do you think he’s gonna hurt me?

_Statement Received by Sister Edna Burrows_  
_Statement Transcribed by Brother Paul Ediker_

* * *

The glass had not shattered, but hundreds of microfractures spread out along its surface, leaving only a few spaces where William could peer inside and observe the damage.

Though he had a hazmat suit primed and ready in his car, Kate had insisted that the composite craft doors stay sealed shut. So, he’d made do with observing the specimen from afar.

When it collapsed to the floor of the cockpit, it took on what William assumed was—more or less—its true form. The large, white, ungainly dog had collapsed in on itself, leaving only densely matted fur behind. Whatever had given structure and shape to the body was nowhere to be seen, if in fact it had ever been there at all. Surrounding the clumps of fur, the mist had settled to coat every available surface, and as time passed the pristine white of the particles took on a pale green coloring.

The complete abnormality of the situation set his teeth on edge. _Bodies do not vanish,_ William thought, the tension held deep behind his sternum seeking a fluttery release through his throat, _They do not exists one moment and disappear the next, and yet… _The sight of the fur, like some hunter’s halfhearted attempt at taxidermy, was unquestionably empty, with not a fragment of bone or strand of muscle fiber to ease his mind. Satisfied that he’d made all the notes he could of even the slightest variation in green shading or fur clumping, William sent out to touch base with Kate in the medical bay.__

__Beyond the main deck, the topmost level of the gondola was split and sectioned into rows upon rows of hallways; hundreds of chambers tucked away in the optimized space, should the _Iron Maiden_ ever be called upon to ferry a massive amount of civilians or a small number of high-ranking officials who needed their space. _ _

__Every door, whether it led to a banquet hall or a bathroom, was identical, but Kate only lingered before one, her body emitting a faint light in the dim passageway. The echoing of his steps, amplified by the tight space, announced his presence, though he was certain she could’ve watched his ascent the entire time if she so chose._ _

__“And how is our wayward pilot feeling?” William asked, poking his head into the open doorway. The room was a near blinding white, the overhead fluorescent lights shining so harshly down that it took his eyes a moment to adjust. When they did, he spotted Flight Sergeant Clarke held down in her gurney, a series of restraints securing her wrists and ankles to the bed, while a fifth wove underneath her arms to wrap across her chest._ _

__Kate was also leaning slightly into the doorway to watch the pilot, and she spoke soft enough that he needed to lean down to hear her, “Clarke woke up during surgery…she started to panic, so they restrained her and upped the sedatives.” The medics who attended to the pilot had begun to remove the endotracheal tube that assisted her breathing, and Kate ducked back behind the doorframe with a wince as it was pulled out of her throat._ _

__Shaking off her discomfort, she faced him directly, “Have there been any changes?”_ _

__“Nothing remarkable. If we ignore the fact that a creature seemingly made only of fur _is_ rather remarkable.” He kept his voice steady, not wanting to alarm her any more than necessary. He’d come here to provide answers, to give comfort; While the idea of some previously unknown organism wandering into their midst thrilled _him_ , it had unnerved Kate to the point that she’d all but evacuated the entire lower level of the gondola. “The mist has settled like snow and has taken on a greenish color. The creature shows no signs of life.” Just the facts, avoid any speculation. “Though it’s hard to tell without getting a closer look…”_ _

__Rather than anxious, Kate looked downright _annoyed_ “Well, that makes twice its ‘died’ now. So that door’s staying shut until I’m certain its down for good.” She breathed in deeply, squared her shoulders, and turned to face the entrance. “I’d like to ask her a few questions. Will you come with me?”_ _

__“After you.” He followed close behind, giving a brief nod to the medics who made their way out to give them privacy, though he could still here their quiet chatter in the hall. Probably for the best that they stayed close; Clarke had been exposed to the creature for quite some time, and the possibility that she’d been affected in some way lingered heavy in William’s mind, and, he was sure, Kate’s._ _

__Kate approached gingerly, leaning over the pilot to get her attention, “Clarke? Can you hear me?” she asked, her voice soft with concern, but speaking loud enough to awaken the woman from the daze she was in._ _

__Clarke, bleary-eyed and slumping heavily to her left side, mumbled something unintelligible, her head lolling to and fro as she fought off the anesthesia. “Captain?” she rasped, the word dragged clumsily out from her throat, but with each moment she seemed more and more coherent._ _

__Kate’s face lit up, the relief radiating off her more vibrant than the glow of her projection, “I’m so glad you’re feeling better!” She’d clasped her hands together tightly. A need to embrace that had been skillfully tempered and redirected. “And, I’d be even more thrilled if you could help us understand what’s going on.”_ _

__Clarke gave a noncommittal nod of affirmation, flexing her fingers and toes as she observed her surroundings, dark eyes still unfocused even as her body shook off the lingering heaviness of the anesthesia. As she surveyed the room, her gaze lingered on William for a moment and he was struck with the realization that her eyes were not dark; the pupils were blown out so wide that they nearly eclipsed her iris._ _

__Unbothered by the sight or perhaps not noticing, Kate continued her questioning, “That thing inside the plane. I need to know where it came from.” William tried to focus on Clarke’s eyes, trying to pinpoint other symptoms of head trauma, hallucinogens, third cranial nerve disorders, anything that would go hand in hand with the dilation._ _

__With a final toss of her head Clarke finally faced Kate, her expression blank as she focused solely on her. Her entire body was still, wrists hanging limply from the restrains, every muscle relaxed and sinking heavy into the thin mattress atop the gurney. She looked up at Kate with heavy lidded eyes and began to smile; languid and rapturous, the act strained her lips thin from how wide it was. “The soil,” she said, “It came from the soil.”_ _

__“It…came out of the ground?” Kate offered, anxiously wringing her hands has she noticed the change that came over Clarke’s body. She sent William a worried look, but soldiered on, “Some coordinates would be helpful…” Clarke’s face remained unchanged, her smile lacking any warmth, just an unfocused joy. “Or perhaps just a landmark?”_ _

__At that, Clarke blinked slowly, the smile slipping off her face. “It was a wheat field.” She said, without the meandering, almost drunken cadence from before. Whatever had come over her, it had passed just as quickly. “I could see the town, but just a little. The stalks were so high, almost taller than me.” She seemed exhausted, that sparse recollection having drained her, and she struggled to sit up, startling herself as her wrists and chest jerked against the leather straps. Kate stepped back from her bedside, waving over the medics who had begun to slowly edge back into the room. Once they reached Clarke’s side to begin easing her out of the restraints, William and Kate moved out into the hall._ _

__“A farm near town?” William suggested, once they were out of sight. He hadn’t gotten a proper look at the landscape when he’d flown in, but he didn’t think they’d have much trouble finding it. Naples, a coastal city with heavily trafficked trade routes, wasn’t known for having its own exports to offer. Finding a golden field as prosperous as the one Clarke had seen would’ve been like spying gold in a coalmine._ _

__“Possibly, but…” Kate trailed off, looking thoughtful as she glanced back into the infirmary, “Isn’t it a little late for a wheat harvest? It’s already November.”_ _

__“Well, I believe that’s a question for the locals.”_ _

* * *

____

**Below**

It did not appear without warning.

All things have a place. The mandates of reality are very firm in their rules and regulations. Things that exists take up space in this world and affect that which surrounds them. Something truly massive might even make the glorious move to affect others far, far away; a chain of reactions colliding and reacting as each act links together.

Here is the act that continues the chain; a near imperceptible warning. 

It could not be heard—not above the rushing waves of the tunnel, which seemed to grow stronger as the moments ticked by—or smelt—not when the heavy scent of mildew clung to every surface—and it would be a few moments too late before it would be seen. But it could be _felt_.

Esther had scarcely taken a few steps back into the main passage before she felt the tingle of awareness creep up on her. The nagging, squirming feeling of being watched. That rush brought with it an intense bout of nausea that nearly felled her. She stumbled for a moment as her knees buckled but caught herself against the smooth damp wall. The sensation of the stone help to ease her vertigo; jagged corners of concrete that stung as it bit into her palm was soothed by the cool moss that covered the walls in patches. 

She swung around to confront that feeling, wanting to put the unease to rest. _No one’s there; I’m just…confused_ she thought, and with an empty room at her back and a partner at her side, she was so certain it was true. But she did not see Abel beside her. He had fallen behind in the short passage that led to the main tunnel, head resting heavy in his hand as he took his own stumbling steps forward.

And then she looked beyond him. 

The gentle glow that had seemed to follow them on their journey was at its very dimmest, but the unyielding dark that hovered over Abel’s shoulders was broken by a massive shape that seemed to radiate with its own light; there was the impression of a hazy afterimage, something that blurred even as it stood still, so tall that its narrow shoulders were pressing against the ceiling, head bowed forward as it silently observed them.

It moved the instant her eyes had shifted over towards it. She tried to call out, to warn Abel, to do _anything_ — 

But her body felt so heavy. And it was so fast.

It raised one spindly hand out from the water where it had hung low at its side, hovering besides Abel’s head for a moment before sweeping inward, catching him in the arc of its swing as it bashed his head into the wall. The stone splintered and shattered with the force of the impact.

Abel tried to rise unsteadily to his feet, and Esther could see the loose strands of silvery hair at his temple was matted with blood. But, as he stood it caught him around the neck, lifting him up high before thrusting him down into the deeper water. He kicked hard at its middle, clawed at its arms, and bashed against its sides, but it was unbothered by all the thrashing, holding his head firmly under the dark, rushing water. 

Esther rushed forward, fighting through the intense vertigo to draw her shotgun and prepare to fire. But as she took aim, she realized there was no clear shot. The creature had forced his head under the water, pinning the rest of his bowing body down against the ledge with its massive frame; even though it was rail thin, it completely dwarfed him. There was no safe way to shoot without Abel being caught in the line of fire.

Esther felt her knees buckled once more with the intensity of her nausea, the building pressure in her skull nearly blinding her. She tried to use the momentum of her fall, swinging the barrel of her shotgun down onto their attacker’s head as she stumbled. She’d braced herself for a sharp _crack_ , and the sideways lurch of its body, but instead heard a wet squelching sound as the side of the barrel sank deeply into its head. When she tried to pull back and swing again, there was resistance. 

With a grunt, she pulled one last time, and as she dragged the gun backwards, the head was dragged back with it, arching the neck and turning the head towards her.

Just like the creature that Lord Johannes had seen abduct his son, just like the remains they’d found buried in the empty room, it was featureless. But unlike the remains—papery and translucent—this creature’s skin felt thicker than tanned leather, and beneath it, something dark seemed to pulse and press just below the surface.

She was transfixed by the sight if its writhing skin, by its gaping, empty maw the ran diagonally across the entire length of its skull. It was in that precious moment that something _barreled_ into her side, freeing the gun with a pop and lifting her clear off her feet before rushing out into the main passage. It had latched it jaw around her right wrist, and the inside of it mouth was sandpapery, thousands of delicate, miniscule needles hooking into the thick fabric of her sleeve to scrap against her skin. With its hold secure, it dove down into the pitch-black water, forcing her down with it.

The water was _freezing_ , and she couldn’t stop the involuntary gasp as her body tried to cope with the shock of it. Water rushed passed her lips and down her throat before she had the mind to clamp her mouth shut. The rapid pounding of her heart in her ears was deafening in the murky depths of water, the undercurrent threatening to sweep her away. 

The thing that had dragged her down had sunk to the bottom, and free of its hold, Esther frantically clawed at the walls of the waterway, hefting herself out and onto the ledge with heavy _thump_ as all the strength she had left seeped out of her body and onto the stone floor. Even her shivers felt weak, akin more to a full body tremor that did little to ease the stinging cold against her skin. 

With the frantic beat of her heart beginning to settle, she dragged her head up to look down into the dark length of the side tunnel. _Abel_ , she thought, panic beginning to grip her, as she heard nothing, saw nothing _Where’s—_ a hacking cough nearly caused her to jump out of her skin, but it was unmistakably him 

Though she should have been worse off than before, Esther felt…lighter. She breathed in deeply and though the air stung a bit against her raw throat, the sweet scent of moss and the icy cold water was _wonderful_ ; it eased the nausea, made her feel awake and alert. 

Strange. She’d thought the earthier smells of the tunnel to be quite unpleasant earlier, tinged too heavily with the decay of wood and overwhelming in their abundance. Now, they invigorated her. 

Trying to ride the high of her newfound strength, Esther forced herself to stand. Alone in the passageway, Abel rested on his knees taking deep, gasping breaths in between wet, hacking coughs. When he turned blurry eyes towards her, she saw that the wound to his temple still bled steadily, a bright red trail down his face that dripped from his chin. From where they dangled on a cord connected to his collar, his glasses hung loose; the impact with the wall had badly dented one of the arms and shattered a lens. 

She kneeled down to his level, brushing wet, silver strands away to inspect the severity of his injury. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly, probing gently at the gash, the skin feverishly hot under her fingers, even burning through the cloth of her glove. It spanned nearly the length of her thumb, and was deep enough that a normal man would’ve needed stitches to knit it shut. But Abel healed fast thanks to his nature and she gave silent thanks to the little beasts in his body that would ease his pain before long. She could see little sign of them having helped during the attack however, and she wondered how he’d dispatched of the creature so quickly. “How did you fight it off? Did you use—"

“No.” he cut her off, voice rasping and weak. He looked startled at the sound and gave one last hard cough to clear his throat before speaking again, softer this time, “No, it…it let me go.” He started to rise, swaying on his feet as one hand grasped at the wall, so she tucked herself under his arm to help support the weight. As he regained his balance, Esther tried to gather her own bearings.

She’d lost her shotgun in the violent undercurrent of the sewer line, so they were down a weapon.

The rations in her bag had likely survived being submerged, but she doubted the map had fared as well. 

Both of their attackers had struck and then fled. A warning?

Whatever they were dealing with was unlike any methuselah she’d ever seen or read about, and the chances of it being some one-off mutation roaming wild were all but dashed.

They needed to get out of here; regroup and return with reinforcements that could better handle _giants_ that lurked in the sewer. She placed a finger to the communicator band around her ear, intending to call Sister Kate and report their findings, but the small microphone let out a buzzing hum that rose in pitch until the entire device short-circuited with a harsh zap to her ear. Esther gave a yelp as she tore it off, resisting the urge to toss it away.

Abel had been startled by her flailing but removed his own communicator for inspection when he saw the broken device in her hand. He fiddled with it for a moment, before tucking it away in his cassock with a sigh. “Are you alright, Miss Esther?” He’d stepped away from her, looking nervously at her right arm.

Esther gave it a cursory glance. She’d felt such a surge of energy after resurfacing that the small wound had barely registered. The thick fabric of her cuff had protected her from the brunt of its bite, though the sleeve was completely shredded. Even as she looked down at the cuts, a smattering of bright red incisions set in neat little lines on her wrist, she was more bothered by the shock her earpiece had given; the cuts hadn’t hurt.

“I’ve had worse” She muttered, wiping away some of the blood that had pooled on her wrist, accidently tugging off some of the sparse clots that had formed. Even _that_ barely stung. She looked over to the rushing water of the main tunnel; it had risen, and the surging steam now batted forcefully against her calves. “The one that pushed me…Did it ever resurface?” She had her doubts. The undercurrent had been so strong farther down, and her attacker had sunk like a stone. 

Abel shook his head slowly, looking down at his glove. It had been stained a bright red from applying pressure to the gash at his temple. He stared intently, almost like he’d expected something…more. She needed to break him out of his musings, get them both back on track. “They might’ve been trying to scare us off” She said, gingerly pulling the map from her bag. Just as she feared, it had been soaked through, and the thin parchment all but disintegrated in her hand. Thank goodness they hadn’t gotten themselves caught up in a more elaborate section of the tunnels.

“Well, they don’t need to tell me twice!” Abel’s voice carried a faint echo in the short passage, but it was drowned out quickly by the rushing water, carrying his indignation out and away from them. “Frankly, I’m sick of this stuffy old place.” He left her side, stomping out of the passage as best he could with water at his ankles and looked left, right, then left again. “The sooner I get some fresh air, a hot meal, and some milk tea…” He’d swung around the face her, but doubled over, cradling his head in his palm with a wince, “The better.”

So, they set out once again, retracing their steps—which wasn’t hard considering they’d taken just one, _disastrous_ , turn—Abel covering the rear, revolver drawn and lowered at his hip, while Esther led the way out . While the entire sewer system was a complex series of levels and branching passageways, the direction they were headed in lacked any of that; All sections coalesced into this single tunnel that dumbed out into the sea.

The journey back felt…different. Descending downward, there had been a kind of anxious energy in every step; a thrumming in her veins that protested such darkness, such suffocation. Her body wanted light and warmth, not this burial without death.

That feeling had been soothed by the gentle light. It had followed them this entire time; a sweet pulse that helped ease the animal fear of the shadows and their inhabitants. 

But now, like the steady stream that had strengthen to a dangerous flood, so too did the light.

It had grown far more intense; she could see now that the tunnel was full of vibrant colors; from the deep emerald green moss that grew in between the stone, to the molten red clusters of impurity imbedded deep within their composition, to the thousands of golden flecks of granular debris that rushed past her in the water like wayward lights. She let her fingertips drag along the wall, watching as the pressure released sparkling blue water that dripped in down along the surface. Little rivers all their own.

The dizzying array filled her with the same intense vertigo she’d felt when confronting the creatures who’d attacked them, but without the painful nausea that brought her low. She wanted to ask Abel how he felt, see if he could sense this vibrance like she could, but every time she tried to put it to words, tried to articulate the feeling that was consuming her, she was stopped. 

Whether it was moments when the lights dimmed—as they always had, so consistent in their strangeness—or when the wonder of the colors began to fade away, something stopped her. In its place was an overwhelming sense of peace, and a tiredness that crawled up her body, dragging her down, making every step an endeavor. It felt like there was no danger. If there is no danger, why fear? Without fear, you need only rest. 

Rest here.

Rest _Now_.

Esther wanted so badly to succumb to that feeling; to just lay her head against the stone for a moment. But as she was dragged through this daze, the hand she’d been skimming along the wall slipped out into nothingness.

She’d hit a corner.

The stairway.

The excitement she felt was so powerful, the prospect of _leaving_ so close, that it burned away at the peaceful melancholy the colors had lured her into. For a moment, she felt back to normal.

But even this room had changed.

Esther stood there, frozen before the wall that blocked the way.

Abel had continued marching forward without a care, oblivious to his partner standing stock still and knocking her—literally—out of her shocked stupor.

Having already released her grip on the entryway and overcome with a new kind of dizzying pressure in her head, Esther just barely caught herself as she stumbled forward into the room. The rotting wooden crates were still stacked high against the walls, though more had spread out as the room filled with water, and loose clothing still fluttered about in the churning waves. But the opposite side, which just a few hours earlier had led up and out of the sewer, was blocked by a massive, dark wall.

Esther approached it cautiously, heedless of Abel’s hushed warning behind her and shaking off the hand that weakly reached for her wrist.

Despite his trepidation, Esther could hear heavy splashing as Abel took a few long-legged strides to catch up with her. He hovered close behind her as she approached the wall, with a whispered, “How in God’s name?” at her shoulder 

The soil seemed loosely packed, and judging by the dark color, recently wet. She made a swipe at the wall, digging her fingers into the damp surface, trying to see if they could possibly bring it down themselves. It was inconceivable that whoever had filled the stairway had used enough dirt to fill the _entire_ thing in just a few hours without causing more of a commotion. But, as her hand sunk into the soft surface, she jerked back with a start, bumping into Abel’s chest as he held firm behind her. It was _sharp_. She looked down at her gloved hands, covered thinly in a layer of the soil and gently rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. It seemed to sparkle and glimmer with little shards of glass or metal, and even such a small amount was enough to sting, passing straight through her gloves to puncture the soft skin underneath. 

She scrutinized the wall, and found the longer she studied it, the more vibrant its surface became, alight with the same impurities and fragments that had emerged from the stone walls. It was within this wall that she found the source of the light.

Spreading out over the surface, hundreds of thousands of thread-like fibers wove in and out of the soil. If she followed one with her eye long enough, she’d come across a pale sprout—roots, then? — that was topped by a tightly coiled bud. From these roots, a faint green glow radiated; with thousands, the room illuminated, and if they’d spread out into the tunnels, it was no wonder the glow had never truly faded. 

As though the ambient light that had followed them all this time was trying to be a proper member of the team, the room was cast in an electric green glow, almost too harsh to her eyes after hours of the soothing darkness. It began at the spot she’d disturbed, and radiated outward to encompass the entire room, and farther still. From flooded floor to newly revealed ceiling, she made out fine debris jutting out from the wall, glittering specks of light as small as grains of sand. 

It was so lovely; pretty colors and pretty lights and it looked so nice decorating her hand and it’d look even nicer _all over_ …

And…and it was time to leave. She wanted to leave. 

Abel had latched onto her arm, a tight grip that helped awaken her from the fatigued daze she’d nearly fallen back into. Even knowing he was trying to help, her body was a near dead weight pulled along and out of the room. Never once did she look away from the light, even when it started to burn.

He pulled her farther and farther along the way, clearing the room and heading swiftly down the left tunnel, and she got the impression that he was speaking to her, but there was a pounding in between her ears that demanded her attention; It was a heavy storm in her mind, a cloud suffocating her brain, thunder crashing against her ears, while lighting flashed behind her eyes. 

Lightning, Lightning, Lightning.

“—sther.”

He’d stopped to brush the bangs back from where they hung loosely over her eyes, and she felt moisture spread across her forehead. Hadn’t she dried off already? Was it sweat? But it was so _cold_ down here, why would she be sweating?

“Miss Esther, please say something!” Loud. He was so loud. He’d even started to drown out the thunder. Esther blinked slowly, and each time she did so, the afterimages of the light sparked behind her eyes. One moment, two, then three, and the intensity had faded; the only glow came from behind her, casting harsh shadows unto the wall, fragmented by the bodies blocking the path. 

Abel had leaned in close, studying her eyes carefully, and placing two fingers over the pulse in her neck. He seemed satisfied with what he’d found, relief flooding his face, and he spoke far more gently, “You said the sewer drained out into the ocean, right?”

It took her a moment to find her voice. her tongue felt like it had fused to the roof of her mouth; tearing it away felt as unnatural as pulling teeth and it left her voice hoarse, “Right, it’s…it’s the only thing down this way”

“Ok. We’ll head there. It’ll take us outside. We’ll just…climb the rest of the way” He made a show of putting on a brave face, but she heard the slight wave of his voice has a sent another glance her way.

No. He was looking past her.

He was looking at the room; the glow so bright it cast him in noxious monochrome, and the blue of his eyes clashed harshly against the pinpricks of green reflected in them.

Even when the luminescence of the wall was far behind them, he still held her hand tightly, whether for her sake or his own, she wasn’t sure.

* * *

**Above**

The drive into town had been unremarkable; long stretches of unkept plains that were only broken by the occasional glimpse of massive boulders imbedded into the landscape; chalky white stone that had crashed into the earth, nestled comfortably in the craters formed on impact.

Any lands outside of smaller city centers were often left untamed, as the meager forces maintaining infrastructure focused solely on survival, not expansion. While these unkempt fields might’ve held promise, they also demanded heavy maintenance and reconstruction to break down the volcanic overflow and ash that had settled wildly all across the farmland

Before the Dark Ages, Naples had been filled to the brim with citizens and the economic prosperity they reaped. And, when the war began, its ports had been essential in ferrying supplies in and out of its sheltered gulf. 

But it was not the Methuselah’s forces that had laid waste to the city. Their destroyer had hung heavy over them since the beginning. Made weak by rampant war bombardments, the very foundation of their land was thrown into a vicious upheaval. When that pressure became too much, Mount Vesuvius caved in.

And so, the city of Naples had evacuated, condensing tightly into the ancient providence, fleeing from the invading Methuselah and from the very fire of the Earth. They’d simply never returned to those burned and buried lands.

William pulled into the edge of the city near sundown, maneuvering his car through the narrow cobblestone streets of the town. Though the main road was quite cramped, even with few other vehicles lining the sidewalks, the inner streets were narrower still, framed by towering complexes; some overflowing with potted plants and strings of laundry, others proudly displaying signs for businesses, even as far up as the top most floors. These units were stacked high enough to block out the last rays of the sun, and the streets were cold in their handmade night.  
As he slowly approached the center of town, William’s path was blocked. Positioned across the road were wooden barrels, some stuffed to the brim with fruits, some with vegetables, others filled with heaping portions of rice. And in the center, a barrel overflowed with golden strands of wheat stalks.

Beyond the barrels, He spied the center of town, though just barely. He could make out the high spouts of water that shot into air from an ornate fountain, but beyond that, heavy sheets of canvas had been strung up between the buildings, encasing the circular plaza and blocking the other side of the city center from view; the enclosed space felt like one massive carnival tent without its big top.

He parked his car, tucking it into one of the more abandoned looking alleyways, devoid of the colorful markers and signs of the earlier streets. _How odd_ , he thought, squeezing in between the makeshift barrier to enter the plaza, _that I’ve yet to see a single soul_.

The plaza had seemed so sparse, but all along the walls of the canvas were small stalls, shielded by canopies and illuminated by lanterns that dangled from the windows of tall buildings. Each one seemed to be different; one was filled with vats of muted dye, their colors dripping down their edges to stain the cobblestone; another seemed dedicated to a single giant automated loom, its chain of sewn together punch cards still dangling from its top, while piles of completed tapestries were gathered beneath; dozens of the stalls were filled with a myriad of crops, each one unique and the sweet smell of dried fruit was carried by the cold air. But not a single soul tended to anything. 

The uncanny serenity of the scene was interrupted by the harsh backfiring of an engine. It was a rickety old flatbed truck, pulling in through the eastern side of the plaza, the only side without a blockade. It carried just a few large rolls of dried wheat, held steady by two teenage boys riding in the back, bracing themselves against the short walls of the truck as it stuttered to a stop

The truck had parked in front of one of the stalls, the boys hopping out to unload the bales into neat stacks under the canopy. By the time William had cleared the plaza, the boys were nearly done, and they shot him nervous glances while they checked the fastenings on their crop. Before he’d gotten close enough, a man—their father? —had jumped out of the truck, and he pulled the two away from their work, ushering them into the backseat of the cab. 

William called out to the man, stopping him before he also hopped into the truck. Through the still open door, three pairs of wide eyes—the newest set belonged to a much smaller boy, practically a toddler—watched from the shadow of the cab. “Afternoon, my good sir! That’s a fine haul you’ve got there.” 

The man had gone rigid, one foot on the ground and another in the cab, ready to jump on. He didn’t turn around to answer William. “It’s alright,” Brief and clipped, hands tightening around the bar the hung from the cab ceiling. 

“More than alright. It takes hard work and dedication to reap these kinds of rewards.” William spoke slowly and softly; the man seemed ready to bolt at the drop of a pin. “Especially so late in the season. Makes me wonder just what else grows around here.” He risked a few steps closer, but it seemed to be a few too many. At the crunch of gravel, the man hopped off the truck’s step, and faced him with a steely gaze, shoulders pushed back as he slammed the door shut behind him. 

“What are you asking?” Despite his fierce stance, the man’s voice wavered terribly.

“Oh, I’m not asking anything. Why? Did you have something interesting you’d like to share?” He didn’t want to harass the man, not in front of his children. But Sergeant Clarke had lost her senses in a field of golden wheat, and only one stall was filled to bursting with the stuff.

“That’s enough.” A stern voice called out from behind William, and the man’s eyes widened in a frozen panic, frantically grasping at the door handle behind him. Walking up to the two was a middle-aged man, back ramrod straight as he marched up to them. Stitched across the band of his peaked visor: _Polizia di Napoli_. The officer reached the shaking man and dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder, forcing him into a hunch. “Take your boys and head on home, Matteo.” He spoke evenly, and William could hear no anger or malice in his voice. Even Matteo seemed relieve, nodding his head rapidly before leaping into the cab, turning it on and hitting the gas before the door had even closed.

When the screeching of the tires had faded away, all was silent save the gentle flow of the ornate fountain. Upon closer inspection, the figure at its center was a serene faced woman, pouring water from a vase onto a thick forest of trees, leaping animals dancing at her feet. “Rather quiet out, wouldn’t you say?” William addressed the man, but he’d already started to leave. The people here didn’t seem to enjoy a civil chat. 

William followed behind the man, and when he glanced over his shoulder to see him following, he seemed more annoyed than angry. “City wide curfew. Folks need to be home before the sun sets.” He sped up, but William was far from satisfied with that answer, and he took his own long strides to catch up, now walking abreast of the officer.

“For a curfew that strict…Has something happened? Have you reported it to…” He was cut off by a harsh snort; a cruel look had settled over the officer’s face, though it wasn’t directed at anything in particular. He just stared ahead at a large building, a single faded sign hanging above the lowest level. 

“We don’t report to anyone but our own. It’s all private.” He’d reached the building, and started to climb the stairs, taking two steps at a time in his haste.

“So, you don’t find it troubling that so many of _your own_ have gone missing.”

The officer had halted at the final step, turning slowly to face him. Now the cruel look was most _definitely_ directed at him. “How the hell do you…”

“I’m an officer with the Ministry of Holy Affairs. We’ve been conducting an investigation that’s hit a rough patch. But it sounds like you’ve got such a handle on things. I’d love to compare notes.” The officer hadn’t asked for his name, and William was content not to give it. The two faced each other down; William doing his best his project a friendly, respectful aura, and the officer doing his best to burn a hole through his skull.

Bursting out from underneath one of the strung-up tarps, a group of children ran past, shrieking with delight as they tossed bundles of ribbons between them. They were being chased by a young woman, hiking her skirt up high as she tried to corral them. The jumbled mass of oranges, reds, and yellows, decorated with clumps of glitter and crude drawings, looked like burning clusters of fire, glinting sharply in the warm light of dusk.

The officer watched the children as they ran, many of them already bundled up in the young woman’s arms, the rest ducking behind another tarp. His eyes had softened into something kind, but he cleared his throat with a wet cough, spitting a dark wad onto the cobblestone, and the tenderness fell away. “How about we head on in?” He didn’t wait for William’s response, but the high-pitched creaking of the doors old hinges would’ve drowned it out anyway. 

The building had seemed fairly large when observed from the outside, but any luxuries the space might’ve afforded were being squandered by the Naples City Police. High towers of filing cabinets—some filled so completely that they been left open to double as shelves, and whatever didn’t fit there left to topple over on to the floor—lined every wall, even encroaching upon the single window that was already struggling to brighten the room. What little light it did allow, however, only helped to cast a spotlight on the thick clouds of dust that had been stirred by the swinging door. All of it surrounded one simple desk, which seemed to bow slightly under its own stacks of overstuffed folders. A small plaque bolted to the head of the desk read, in short blocky letters, _Salvatore Volta III, Chief of Police_.

“Sorry for mess.” Mess was an understatement, and he didn’t _seem_ particularly sorry, but he also didn’t sound hostile any longer, so William considered it a step forward. Volta reached behind the desk, yanking out a small hose-necked lamp that he placed gingerly down. “We only meet here in the mornings to assign patrol, so there’s not much point in it being pretty.” The light had failed to click on when he tugged on its metal cord, so he crouched down, shifting papers aside until he found a short portion of a black cable. 

Volta ran his hands along the cable until he triumphantly found the other end, only to duck his head behind one of the cabinets as he thumped his hand along the wall. While he did so, William moved closer to inspect the desk, taking note of the folders spread across the surface; each one had a date printed neatly across its tab, though the stacks leaned haphazardly, not a single date was out of order. “But it’s like I said before, all that stuff is private…” He’d found what he’d been looking for along the wall, and the little lamp clicked on with a small spark, casting a pale white light over the desk. As the sun sank even lower, warm light crawling up the walls and creeping out of the dingy office, it became the sole source of light.

“And I can prove it.” He crouched down again, this time behind the desk, to fiddle with something along the drawers built into its side. When William tried to move around the desk to see, Volta sent him a _venomous_ glare, hunching over the small device in his hand. But, not before William had gotten a clear enough look: a small combination lock, either made of copper or rusted over so badly that there was no silver left to shine through. He raised his hands in submission, trying to placate the officer, and stepped away. 

When he rose again, it was with a thin envelope. Its edges where frayed lightly, but besides that it seemed to be in good condition. Volta threw it down onto the desk, and it slid a few inches forward to rest. Over its center was a red wax seal, and stamped onto its surface was an iron mallet framed by two lightning bolts: the _Vineam Domini_.

“See, right there! Sealed by the Department of the Inquisition.” Volta sounded relaxed, like the seal had been his final assurance that William posed no threat to him, and he sat down heavily onto a small wooden chair behind the desk, tension bleeding out of his body. “My grandad said the Chief himself came down here and signed it.” 

Volta looked up at him, not cruel or smug or relaxed. He looked…dazed. “By his order, by the _Vatican’s_ order, all cases of unlawful activity are under the sole jurisdiction of the Naples City Police.” He spoke methodically, as though every word had been meticulously memorized for this kind of occasion, for this very _moment_.

He leaned forward, resting his weight on his folded arms, crinkling the loose sheets of papers beneath him, and pulling his visor low to shade his eyes, already so lost in the shadow of the room. “Now, you gonna try to tell me that some _priest_ has the authority to overturn this kind of thing?” William remained silent, not liking the wide smile the strained the officer’s once harsh features. It was too familiar.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so.” He leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the desk and pulling his cover off to lay it more completely over his face. William took it as a dismissal and made for the door, but Volta’s voice, muffled through cloth, stopped him. “You should probably get some lodgings for the night, but I strongly suggest moving on by morning.” Even though he couldn’t see his face, the corners of his smiling lips still peeked out from under the cap. William exited without a word.

He’d been unnerved by the officer’s smile, by how wildly it seemed to clash against the stoic visage he offered visitors, and the gentleness reserved for the citizens of his town. It stretched his face wider than it seemed capable of handling.

But his eyes…

William had seen them just for a moment, when Volta had leaned forward into the lamplight: the pupils blown so wide it nearly eclipsed his iris, refusing to shrink back against the glare of the bulb.

He needed to make a call.

* * *

**Below**

Abel Nightroad was never truly alone.

The moment he had allowed the parasites to take root inside his body, to steadily replace everything he was with a well-made copy, he had signed away any right to isolation. 

As a child, he had hated being alone; left to stew with thoughts as violent as they were self-destructive, suffocating under the ringing of silence. 

These days, his bloodlust had been tempered and shaped into something more meaningful, but 25 trillion voices still sang out in a cacophonous choir within his blood for something he could not—in good conscience—give. Silence was a dream other people had.

He had long since made peace with the fact that he’d never be free of these passengers, and he moved about life with their songs as an ambient accompaniment to his own thoughts and desires.

But this place.  
Here, everything within him was blissfully, unnervingly, silent.

The ever-present thrumming in his veins that had always reminded him of their presence had fallen away, leaving only the rhythmic beating of his heart. And he tried to remember, was this what his body had sounded like, when he belonged to no one but himself? 

It had happened so gradually that he’d barely registered their absence. He’d been too focused on trying to make sense of the flooding tunnel; bathed in dim green light that never passed and smothered beneath the sense that something was right there beside them, watching their every move.

When they had first arrived, he’d been struck by that oppressive feeling. Even as it threatened to overwhelm him, its presence felt empty. Following them without any discernable source to pinpoint or intention to decipher. Content to observe, for now.

So, he had settled for remaining vigilant. But as the air spoiled and the water rose, he found it difficult to remain focused, wanting nothing more than to leave this place. Even If it meant following the straight path beyond the sealed off exit. Here, the presence was far stronger than before, and the weight of it had been an onslaught to his senses, already fined tuned and delicate. 

It had been how he’d finally noticed the unnatural silence of the nanomachines. Usually with anxiety, fear, or anger came their swift internal response; He’d be engulfed by a rush of adrenaline and a gaping hunger that clutched and tore at the pit of his stomach. Where one could not solve his problems, the other usually compensated. 

But the further they traveled, the more tired he became. And, even the _thought_ of eating was enough to make him ill. So, he fixated on getting back to the surface, for Esther’s sake as much as his own—more really, he’d survived much worse—and hoped the illness would not follow beyond the borders of the earth. 

He’d been so single-minded, clutching at her small hand as she followed unsteadily behind; every few moments he heard the harsh splash as she stumbled, but never did she voice discomfort or agitation. But this was worrisome in its own way: Though she’d briefly snapped out of whatever thrall had settled over her before the blocked stairwell, she hadn’t spoken since.

Glancing slightly over his shoulder, Abel tried to spot any changes to her demeanor. But, beyond an oddly peaceful expression coupled with eyes glazed over with exhaustion, nothing seemed _outwardly_ wrong with her.

His glance had become more of a stare, and he’d been so wrapped up in his observations that when a harsh scraping sounded barely a meter in front of them, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was a…deer?

Its head hung heavy, bowed over itself so low that the shaggy white cowl of fur around its neck dragged in the water, catching the debris that floated by. It dragged the rounded tips of its branching antlers across the stone wall, digging into it so forcefully that the chunks of stone crumbled away, exposing the damp soil just below the surface. As it continued to gouge into the wall, clumps of dirt dropped down into the water and were quickly carried away by the current.

As the muddied water rushed past him, it gave off the faintest green glow. Exposed by that brief light were the same coiling white roots that had been imbedded into the soil of the wall. Even as it flowed away out of sight, the dim glow remained as an alluring afterimage behind his eyelids. Barely a few hours here and already he was starving for light. 

He nervously edged past the buck, tugging Esther along with him. The narrow walkway was almost completely taken up by the animal. But even as he crept right behind it, close enough for its flicking tail to brush his abdomen, it remained fixated on the wall, sharpening its velvet horns methodically against the stone. Eyes still unfocused, Esther hadn't seemed to notice the animal, but she still took quick steps along the edge as she brushed past. 

Safely on the other side, Abel took a few moments to study the animal. The harsh lines of its ribs stood out sharply against its light coat, the skin pulled so taunt in some places that it had torn, scabbed over lesions littering its legs and flank. To be so sick and so starving, it might have been wandering down here far longer than Abel was comfortable imagining. But _how_ had it become trapped? Even if the sewer drained out into the open, the main line would've only been partially exposed. And the steel door they'd entered through would've been too much trouble for even a _healthy_ animal to bother with.

It was just another question, rotting under the earth along with the body, the flood, and the monsters.

He needed to move on. It hurt him to see such a confused and miserable animal suffering in the dark, but it wasn’t like he could grab it by the scruff and drag it along with them. Not when he was all but carrying Esther already. 

Resolute in his decision and filled with an anxious energy that sat heavy and hot in the back of his throat, Abel continued down the path.

But Esther did not.

She’d put up no resistance to his guiding her since they’d left the entrance, but now she stood her ground; digging her heels into the slick stone, she stared him down, not moving even an inch forwards when he gently urged her on.

“Miss Esther?” Abel whispered, trying not to startle the buck that still lingered close behind them. Even if it was starving, the sharp horns on its head were nearly the length of his arm, and he didn’t want to see what a burst of fear would do for its strength.

Esther turned her head towards the wall beside her, scanning the stone. Reaching out with her free hand, she lightly _plucked_ one of the concrete bricks out of the wall. It fell into her palm easily, the crumpled edges of adhesive cement doing little to keep it in place. 

She regarded the heavy stone, turning it over and around in her hands with a critical eye.

It was the most attentive he’d seen her since the wall, and he feared startling her back into her near catatonic state. Deep blue eyes shone brightly, even hidden in the dim light, and she blinked rapidly as she tightened her grip on the stone, wincing softly as the aged corners crumbled in her hand. 

Esther jerked her head up suddenly, and he was stunned by the manic excitement blazing in her eyes. She raised her arm up, swinging the stone down hard into the wall. It shattered with an echoing crash.

The buck flinched; the staccato rhythm of its dragging horns was finally broken, and its long ears stood up straight, swiveling around rapidly as it listened. 

Rather than stampeding as Abel had feared, the buck lifted its head slowly, emitting a low grunting growl that reverberated from deep within its chest.

It only grew louder, rising to a high-pitched screech that echoed harshly off the close space of the tunnel’s walls. The buck was composing a chaotic duet with itself, and Abel’s head throbbed as he fell to his knees, the heat of pain traveling from his head down through his spine, until his whole body felt aflame. The frequency of its screech was deafening, and he clutched at his ears, trying to muffle the sharp sound that had yet to falter. 

The even tone was only broken as the buck began to charge the wall directly in front of it, the harsh sound cutting off repeatedly into a heavy grunt as it collided with the stone. When it pulled away—finally, _blissfully_ , silent—from the wall, a thick, dark liquid dripped down its muzzle. More had gathered into the indent in the wall, a shallow puddle that dripped sluggishly down the stone. 

After she had broken the stone, Esther had stood motionless, staring down at her hand as though it belonged to someone else. Now, she began to cough. Deep hacking coughs that left her no time to breathe, and she clutched at her throat as they only grew worse 

His ears still ringing, heat still shooting through every nerve, Abel rose on unsteady legs to stumble to her side. She leaned against his shoulder, still coughing, and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and afraid, the pupils blown so wide that he could barely see the blue of her eyes. She only lasted a few more moments without air before her eyes rolled back and she fainted dead away into his arms.

The buck watched them, and satisfied with the havoc it had wreaked, edged away slowly before darting off and away down the path they had come from. 

Strength quickly failing him, Abel walked backwards until he felt the wall at his back, and he leaned into it for support. The chill of the stone was a soothing balm that he felt even through the thick layers of his clothes. But soon even that feeling became unbearable, and then it was the burning drag of jagged stone that brought relief. He sank down lost in the overwhelming sensations, but so certain that the uneven edges of concrete were tearing through his clothing and flaying his skin. 

The frigid water was _unbearable_ , and the violent shivering of his hands made it difficult to keep hold of Esther’s limp body. Trying to keep warm, Abel shifted her so that she rested in his lap, then tucked his knees in as close as he could. With the imminent threat of the harsh cold mitigated, Abel found himself completely drained of energy. He was completely exhausted. His eyelids drooped shut to protect against the sharp burn of the bitter wind that flowed through the tunnel; the relief was so immense that it lulled him to sleep, without a moment to ponder where the fresh air was coming from. 

He stirred once from that dreamless rest when he picked up the distant sound of rhythmic splashing; a steady cadence that grew louder and louder. 

He stirred once more for just a moment, jarred awake by the jerking of his neck as his head fell to his shoulder. His eyes landed first on the crown of Esther’s head; the vibrant red of her hair glowing with what little light the tunnel provided. 

To his left, positioned so close to his hip as to nearly touch, was a pair of feet.

* * *

**Above**

The short drive out of the borders of the town had been uneventful; If he hadn’t spied those few citizens darting behind the makeshift walls of the festival tarp, he would’ve thought the place well and truly empty. Almost every home or shop lining the main street had their curtains drawn and lights snuffed. Besides the lanterns of the central plaza, the only light came from a modest manor, resting alone on a plateau that looked out and away from the rest.

_Now, you gonna try to tell me that some priest has the authority to overturn this kind of thing?_

No, perhaps not.

But he knew more than a few people who could.

Keeping his eyes on the rapidly darkening road—the last thing he needed was a flat tire and a long hike back to civilization—William reached out for the center console that served doubly as a communicator. It worked best as a direct line to the _Iron Maiden_ , but it also came with the unforeseen perk of having a fairly unrecognizable hailing frequency. The anonymity would help his case.

He tuned in to the proper channel and waited while it connected. 

And waited.

The chime of the connection rang on for so long, William worried he’d gotten the wrong number after all, and was now just harassing some poor fellow before bed.

The monitor came to life with a quiet hum and revealed Petros Orsini, slouching slightly and suppressing a yawn, squinting back at him.

Plastering on an easy-going smile, William greeted the man, “Good Evening, Chief Inquisitor! We’ve yet to be formally introduced. I am—

He was interrupted by a low voice, rough from sleep. “Doctor Wordsworth. Who gave you this channel?

“Well, Sister Kate thought it prudent for us to have a direct line to our good friends in the Inquisition! She got a hold of it after—” 

“Who?” Petros interrupted again, more annoyed than angry.

“Sister Kate Scott? Captain of the _Iron Maiden_? A founding member of the AX?” He shot a look down to see if that had sparked anything, but Petros was staring blankly, a twitch of his eyelid the only indication that he was losing interest and patience. “The…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Hologram?”

The inquisitor’s brow furrowed harshly as he looked away, as though struggling to recall something terribly mundane, before his eyes lit with recognition. “Yes, I recall.” He let out a derisive snort, folding his arms tightly across his chest, “How typical of the Duchess’s ring of spies to go around sharing classified information as though it were idle gossip. I worry for whatever delicate matter might fall into your hands.” He leaned forward, fiddling with what William assumed to be the control panel of his monitor. “Now, you’ve interrupted my rest long enough. _Goodnight._

“Wait!” William barked out, swerving the steering wheel in his agitation. He slowed down as he corrected his course, now able to more safely speak. “Brother Petros, I apologize for bothering you, but I need your help.”

The twitch had evolved into an impressive snarl, “The Vatican Army is not to take on any missions without the explicit approval of Cardinal di Medici!” 

“I don’t need the ‘Vatican Army’, I just need _you_. Just a quick daytrip out to the coast of Naples…”

“You want me to act!—” He roared it out so fiercely that the speakers had trouble processing the sound, and it had an unpleasant tinny edge to it as the audio cracked, “In a solo capacity without the blessing of the Minister Of Defense, just because you…”His voice dropped to a hiss, and whether it was the near audible grinding of his teeth, or the dark bruises beneath his eyes, that made him look more feral than usual, William wasn’t sure, “ _Need help._

He gave a stiff nod, deciding it was better to keep things as brief as possible in the face of Petros’s mounting irritation, “That’s right. The AX is conducting an investigation into the disappearance of more than _two-hundred_ people” Petros was silent on his end, and William risked a glance down to be sure the speakers hadn’t just quit on him. For a moment he locked eyes with the Inquisitor, who was too late to hide his shock. Well, at least now he had his attention. “All vanished without a trace in less than two weeks” He neglected to mention the creature. It was an overcomplication he couldn’t yet justify exposing. If it appeared too serious a matter, the Department of Inquisition might decide it was better handled by _their_ forces, without the AX’s interference. And rarely were their jobs subtle affairs. 

He continued, leaving no room for interruption, “I have reason to believe that sensitive information regarding these disappearances is being suppressed by the local militia. They claim to be operating under orders given to them by the Department of Inquisition, some years ago.”

Understanding dawned in Petros’s eyes, though it was interlaced with caution, “You want me to overturn the order.” William gave a silent nod, but this was perhaps less than the inquisitor wanted. Whatever pity or concern he’d had for the lost had been tucked neatly away, reverting to a cold business-like tone that felt unnatural coming from such a normally boisterous man.

“To ask me to invalidate the sacred order of my predecessor, no doubt to gut that town of whatever secrets you can abscond with. How shameless.”

 _At least we don’t_ actually _gut people_ , William inwardly huffed. Not…typically.

He tried to regain some ground, offering up a bit more information to try and appease the man, “Their militia is operating under a private jurisdiction. One that’s hiding any and all files related to these disappearances. Files that you can help me retrieve.” 

Petros looked away, more petulant that dismissive, but there was a quick darting to his eyes that made him seem more bothered than he let on, “They must have been sealed away with good reason.”

“The good reasons of the past rarely hold against the troubles of today.” 

Petros was silent once more. When William shot another look toward the screen, he saw the man scanning through the large stack of paper clipped into a folder. He settled on a page, and spoke without looking up, “My regiment is stationed in Vieste, in the Province of Foggia. We’re meant to remain here for a week performing training exercises.

“My absence should go unnoticed, if only for a day. I can be in Naples around noon, tomorrow.” 

William wanted to let out a massive sign of relief, but he settled for a composed smile for the sake of propriety. “I greatly appreci—.” He was cut off once more by a sharp click as Petros cut the connection. 

The sun had fully slid behind the horizon when William tucked his car away into a small wooden carport offered by an only _slightly_ larger inn. To the South, the moon creeped over the sleeping town; a single eye, wide and white with awe, that peered down at the people below, trying to spy all the little oddities hidden within the brick and mortar and the hearts they sheltered. 

He’d been wary of returning to the _Iron Maiden_ , not when his car’s engine was dangerously overheated after two long trips in one day; a night to cool down and repairs in the morning would do it some good. And, it gave him more time to develop a better plan of action than, “The authorities are rude and private, so we’ll just rush in.” 

After collecting a rather rusted key from a dozing girl behind the front counter—though, compared to the others hanging on the wall, it was positively shining—he’d trudged up the rickety staircase, careful not to let his suitcase linger on the more rotten planks of wood.

The room felt quite spacious, but that had more to do with the lack of furniture than any generous floor plan. All he’d been given was a simple cot tucked into the corner and a small table besides it. Without a lamp or candlestick, the only light he had came from the moon, which had traveled to sit high in the sky, bored by the humans below. Besides it, the Vampire’s Moon shared the sentiment. 

He settled into the narrow cot, unbothered by the thin mattress or the moth-eaten sheets. He’d had worse days with even less accommodations, so his body began to relax the moment he laid down. As the wariness of the day began to overtake him, he idly wondered where Abel and Esther had retired to after their own investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR  
> 👽🦇&⭐ VS 🌊😈🦌
> 
> 👨🏫 VS 👮🌾
> 
> A New Challenger Approches!  
> 🗣📣


	4. those fruit shall come ripe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👋👽sorry i got consumed by my woes. But its 3am and im over it lets write about vampires and some Wild Foliage😶🌱

_Evidence gets misplaced. People vanish. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again._

_But, at the end of the day, it’s all just a series of inconvenient problems that get neatly cataloged away and forgotten about. Every indiscretion and misdeed meticulously organized, showing only what they wanted shown, and burning the more unsavory tidbits._

_But it only works if you destroy it all. Let no weeds slip through the cracks._

_Do not tuck them away, wedged between towers of folders in little offices, hidden in quiet towns at the edge of the woods._

_It’s an old tape, and scrawled neatly along its side is a name: CHARLES DESCOTEAUX_

_When it’s played, the image is grainy; black and white snow flickers across the screen, blurring the faces of those caught up in the electric storm. But they are ghosts of the past, and they move through their scripts unbothered by the damaged lens through which they are viewed._

_It’s a small space; more of a modified closet that a proper interrogation room. Wooden shelves piled with neatly folded uniforms, cases of untouched ammunition, and half-empty boxes take up much of the interior. What’s left is devoted to a narrow table, pushed close to a wall adjacent to the room’s only door._

_The camera looks down on a young boy, hanging his head, using the condensation from a glass of water to draw spirals that follow along with the grain of the table. Across from him, an older man fiddles with a small tape recorder, before placing it down on the table and reaching for a notebook and pen resting besides his peaked visor cap._

_“This is Salvatore Volta, Chief of Police. Interviewing Charles Descoteaux regarding an assault earlier this morning. It is 2:34 am, Monday, October 13, 3029, In the blessed year 629 of the Lord’s Holy Era…” He leans away from the recorder to whisper to the boy, “They make me say that, otherwise we can’t submit it to the Inquisition for our yearly funding.” Leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh as he flips idly to a blank page, “That was your name, right? Brother Charles? We met a few months ago.”_

_Charles doesn’t raise his head, but he’s stopped following the swirling pattern of the grain, now resting both hands flat on the table’s surface. “Do you remember me?” the officer askes. His voice is quiet and even, but there is a nervous energy in his hands that he tries to hide, drumming his pen against the table in a frantic rhythm._

_The boy still doesn’t respond, and Volta sighs, making a few quick notes in his book. “Can’t be helped. You probably weren’t paying me much mind back then.”_

_Volta leans back in his seat, looking the boy up and down. His eyes settle on a spot above his temple, where a patch of hair has been shaved down close to the skin. A pale mess of scar tissue prevents anything from growing, and what little hair he has left hangs in uneven tangles around his face. “What were you doing out in the plaza this evening?”_

_Charles keeps his head down, but his eyes just barely crawl upward to stare at Volta. A weak rasp escapes him, spilled out as if on accident, “Walking.”_

_The rapid tapping of the pen stops. Volta leans forward, locking eyes with the boy. His voice is a low, enraged hiss, “You were doing a hell of a lot more than that!”_

_“No. Cussing.” Charles whispers automatically. He takes in a deep breath, the exhale causing a shiver to rattle through his body, and he curves his spine to let loose of series of harsh cracks. “Taking a new member home is a lot of work” he continues, voice clearer now, dusting off the layers of disuse to reveal something more clipped, prim, and proper._

_“Member of what?” Volta tries to make more notes, but each one is roughly slashed through after the unsteadiness of his hands leaks into his letters._

_Charles finally raises his head fully, revealing an utterly radiant smile on his face. “Our family!” He says it with reverence, whisperers the word as though it’s fragile, as though it might shatter upon his lips without the utmost care._

_Volta is caught off guard, dropping his pen to clatter noisily against the table. “Why?”_

_The boy’s head falls again, his small body faltering under the weight of his adoration. The words are still treated as a fine gift, dragged out to be savored, “Mother…asked me to.”_

_Volta stares at the boy, unsure of what to ask, and unable to write. He settles for clearing his throat, turning back a few pages in his notebook. “That’s strange. You see, I’d been told…” He slides the book underneath the boy’s nose, close enough to read, but not so far that he loses his grip on it, “that both your mother and father are living in Lyon, in the Kingdom of Franc. In fact, they’re the ones who reported your disappearance.” The boy shows no sign of recognition, so Volta drags the book back, closing it with a soft thud._

_He scratches at the soft leather cover and speaks offhandedly, trying to coax the boy back into liveliness, “I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear you’re ok, but I’d imagine your partner’s family is also worried. Do you have any idea where he is?”_

_Charles stiffens. There is a catch in his throat as he begins to whimper softly, his shoulders trembling. His hands—mismatched, two fingers on the left amputated cleanly at the knuckle—curled tightly as he drags them towards his chest, long nails catching on the broken edges of the table’s lacquer finish._

_“Keep your head up, Charlie.” It’s whispered. Not some holy favor, but a desperate plea._

_“I’m sorry?”_

_“Keep your head up, Charlie.” The boy repeats himself, just as soft, just as afraid. Then he says it again. And again._

_It’s all he has left._

_He won’t last long without her._

* * *

**Below**

Esther resurfaced in increments, grasping at wakefulness like air before sinking back down into the dark.

She clamored to the surface and felt something cool and soft beneath her, a welcome relief to the feverish heat of her skin.

Then there was pressure—feather-light and quick— as something tugged at her arms and legs, leaving her lighter than before.

Before she could find the sense to sit up, something heavy was laid flat over her body, tucked underneath her chin and firmly pressing her back down into a dreamless sleep.

Even tiny fingers curling into the short strands of hair at the nape of her neck did little to rouse her. But then those same fingers _yanked_ backwards, dragging her head along with them.

Her eyes shot open as her body finally snapped forward, clutching at the base of her neck to sooth the stinging pain. She took in deep gasping breaths, her body trying to compose itself as it toppled headlong into wakefulness, leaving most of her senses behind.

All around her, Esther could hear shrieking laughter. The sound was so close that it felt superimposed over her thoughts, and she wondered for one delirious moment if she was just laughing at herself, laughing at whatever nightmare had left her so shaken. When it continued even after she’d blinked away the fog over her eyes, Esther knew it was real. 

Behind her, balanced on the balls of tiny feet, a small girl, clutched her stomach as she doubled over with laughter. In between deep gasps, the girl peered out through the tangled mess of her bangs. Her eyes were scrunched up so tightly that Esther could barely see them, but the small sliver she did catch was clear and bright.

The girl, noticing that her target was now focused squarely on her, let out a high-pitched, whooping war cry before diving past Esther. She rushed out through a makeshift wall, letting in a sliver of harsh light that Esther shrunk back against, not prepared after such soothing darkness. The heavy flap of the canvas wall swung forwards and back from the force of the girl’s departure, before settling back down. 

Esther patted at her chest, trying to find the smooth metal of her rosary. It couldn’t protect her, not alone; she just wanted the weight of it, wanted something she could wrap her hands around and know was real, from the chill of its surface to the indents of the beads pressed into her palm.

But, after feeling around blindly to no avail, Esther realized she did not have her rosary. It wasn’t draped around her neck and the weight of her bag wasn’t at her back and her _habit_ …

She strained her eyes against the dark, looking down at herself. Gone were the familiar fitted sleeves and flowing skirt of her habit. In its place, she’d been dressed in a plain white shirt. It was much too large, the wide sleeves easily swallowing her upper arms, and the thin cotton did little to protect against the chill of the makeshift room. When she’d sat up, a heavy blanket had slid down and pooled around her waist. She kicked it aside, getting a better look at the long pants she’d been dressed in. While they were just as overly large as the shirt, with the same soft material, someone had haphazardly sewn them to hike up around her ankles, and a tightened drawstring kept them from slipping down her waist. 

She could see her waist. She could _see_. Slowly, the small space was being filled with that inconspicuous light that had followed them from the start. Esther quickly scooted backwards, wanting to put a wall at her back so she’d have a safer vantage point with which to observe the whole space. She felt along the ground as she edged backwards, and just as she felt solid stone at her back, the fingers of her left hand became tangled in something—long and thin—on the ground. She jerked her hand way, pressing her body as close as she could to the wall. Bringing her hand up eye-level, she could just barely make out what had ensnared her.

Dangling between her fingers were several strands of long, silver hair.

Filled with hope, she shifted to her knees, not trusting the pins and needles in her legs to be very supportive. As she moved, the source of the light became clear. Besides her hands, a small path had been left behind by the child who’d darted out of sight; shallow divots remained where her feet had struck the ground, and their surface glowed weakly. 

The roots, Esther thought with a start as the memory rush back to her in a sudden wave, The roots glow when you touch them! She pounded at the ground, each time striking with her open palm, each time leaving behind a perfect imprint that gave off a brilliant green light. It glowed most brightly for only a moment, before fading to a more subdued light that lingered longer. 

Surrounded by light, she could see him clearly.

His ribbon was missing; framing him like a serene silver halo, his hair had been laid to fan out around him. Portions of it had been clumsily braided, with what looked like strips of torn cloth, wire, and rope interlaced into the strands. The little girl had been hard at work before she decided she’d rather rip than weave.

“Father Nightroad?” Esther whispered, leaning close to check him for anything worse than _wires_ woven close to his scalp. Though his complexion was washed out in the green light, his face was relaxed in sleep. The gash at his temple had even been bandaged, but she could see that it had already bled through the patch of fabric that had been wrapped around his head. She put a hand to his shoulder, intending to shake him awake, and felt that same thin cotton that she was dressed in. “ _Father_ ,” she called again, digging her nails into his shoulder and shaking him. But, he just carried on sleeping, completely still save for the rise and fall of his chest.

She was just about ready to give his ear a sharp tug when she heard the soft rustle of the canvas lifting, and a harsh sliver of light threw tall shadows against the back wall. Esther spun around to face the intruder, blocking Abel as best she could on the ground, still unable to rise to her feet without the needlelike sensation shooting up her legs. 

She couldn’t make out who stood before them; the backing light cast their figure in harsh silhouette, one thin arm breaking free to lift the canvas as they observed from afar. 

From the light came a woman’s voice. Brittle and quiet with age but filled with profound relief. “You’re finally awake,” She whispered, closing the distance with an uneven stride, casting the space back into darkness. Esther heard the rustle of clothing as the woman crouched besides her, felt a warm puff of breath against her cheek as she leaned in close, “How wonderful!” 

Startled, she tried to move away from her, but her legs still could not support her weight, and she fell back against the soft soil with a wince as the electric numbness radiated from her feet through her thighs. As she toppled, the woman reached out, wrapping a gnarled hand around her calf that kept her from backing away. Her skin was warm, almost uncomfortably hot. She held onto her leg with an unexpected force, giving no ground as Esther tried to tug free from her grasp. “W—who are you?” Esther forced out, frustrated with the crack in her voice. The woman’s hands clenched a fraction tighter, the blunt edges of her nails digging through the thin fabric of her pants, before releasing her entirely. 

The woman shuffled backward on her hands and knees until she no longer hovered over Esther’s body. Hanging her head, she was veiled by the limp strands of her hair, illuminated from beneath by the roots that had been disturbed by her activity. “Ask me anything, little one,” she pleaded, voice small and afraid, “But I beg you, spare me that.” Arms reaching out before her, she lowered her forehead until it touched the floor, silent as she waited for a response.

Esther stared at her prone form, so small and frail that she might’ve mistaken her for a malnourished child. The woman held perfectly still, without even the rise and fall of her breath to muddy her supplication. Unable to stand the suffocating silence, Esther cleared her throat and questioned her again, “Where are we?”

A small laugh, short and shocked, was muffled by her face pressed to the earth. The woman turned her head slowly, leaning on her side as she gazed up at her from behind the loose curtain of her hair, strands tangled in her lashes, caught on the corner of her sweetly smiling lips. 

She dragged herself up, carving brightly glowing paths in the soil, until she sat upright on her knees. Without answering Esther, she looked over expectantly at Abel, but seemed disappointed when she saw he’d yet to rouse. She sighed and patted his stomach, as though he were some dying animal in need of comfort, lamenting all the while. “A shame about this dear boy though. But, he _was_ much the worse for wear,” her hand dropped down to his arm, dragging her nail along the branching trail of his veins, bright against pale skin. Esther bristled at the display. It was one thing for a stranger to manhandle her while she fought back. But to harass her partner when he couldn’t even defend himself was another matter entirely. But, just as she was considering _firmly_ brushing her hand away, the woman leaned back and hopped to her feet. 

Dusting loose soil off her long skirt, the woman looked down on Esther, bending forward at the waist to whisper in her ear, “The wounded need rest. Let’s leave him alone.” She took hold of Esther again, curling her strong hands into her bicep and hauling her up to stand. The pins and needles had slowly faded, but she was only able to keep her balance for a moment before swaying on her feet. With one hand at her arm and another holding tight to the curve between her neck and shoulder, the woman guided her out of the canvas tent. 

The pressure of the woman’s hands helped to steady her uneven steps, but the heat of her skin leaked through the thin cotton clothing and Esther struggled to suppress the anxious shiver that traveled down her spine. 

The open space beyond the tent was small, occupied only by the makeshift tent pitched against one of the stone walls. It was a very simple structure; one large swath of tanned leather draped across four rusted metal pipes forced into the ground. They were enclosed on all sides by high walls of stone, with the shadowed ceiling just barely close enough to make out in the dim light. The only exit is a jagged slit in the farthest wall, just wide enough at the bottom for a single person to squeeze through, before tapering to a close less than two meters up. 

She has little time to pick out more details before the woman has guided them clear across the room and to the exit, forcing Esther’s body sideways to fit in the narrow space. She follows close behind, one hand still at Esther’s neck, the other at her arm to manipulate her body along the passage. 

It was dark. _So_ dark. Even as small as she is, the woman’s body blocked out most of the remaining light from the small room, and it only got worse the deeper they traveled. After just a few seconds, the light is gone, and there is no end in sight. 

As the walls press in tighter, the woman is forced to drop the hand at her arm. Esther can feel damp stone pressing into her back as she’s moved along; it snags on her clothing and cuts into the hands she’s pressed to the wall to help find her space. The stone, the cold water traveling down its surface, the near complete darkness is too much, too soon. It feels too much like being buried, like drowning, like asphyxiating; the woman is her only anchor, but that chain is threatening to drag her down too far.

Esther digs her soles into the hard-packed soil—no shoes, that _hurt_ —stopping their steady procession. The woman bumps into her, tries to keep her moving with a tight clench at her neck, but Esther just shakes her head, forcing her voice out low and slow so that it won’t fail her again. “Please stop, I…I can’t.” She asked, hoping to appeal to her captor’s better nature. She’d found them, housed them, could’ve killed them in their sleep if she wanted. Why go through the trouble if she meant them harm?

The woman was silent but held still. Esther took those few moments to breathe deep, in and out, steadying the fearful flutter of her heart. She wasn’t afraid of darkness, or sharp edges, or cold water, or being lost underground. But all those things combined had triggered some frantic animal fear inside her. 

Taking her hand off Esther’s neck, the woman rested it lightly on her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. “It’s always bad at first.” She whispered. Her inflection was oddly disjointed; a high tone that tilted and lifted awkwardly, consonants catching and vowels dragging. There was sweetness but no compassion, like she’d only just learned how to comfort someone. “But,” she continued, taking her hand away completely and standing still behind her, “They all got used to it.” 

The words…seemed kind. Or, like they were trying to be. Mostly, she was grateful the woman had stopped touching her. Without any other stimuli flooding her frayed senses, Esther was able to calm herself. Not completely, but enough to keep moving. She left her eyes shut for just a bit longer, squeezing them so tightly shut that starbursts of light flickered behind her eyelids. Resolute, she opened her eyes, keeping the afterimage of that light in the back of her mind, and strode forward unaided. 

But only for a few steps, as the Impenetrable Wall of Darkness was actually quite penetrable.

And also, not a wall.

One moment she’d been taking sure footed strides through the crevice and the next, a thick curtain of soft vines and foliage parted before her, letting in the light beyond.

And what a marvel of light it was. 

It did not blind. It was too gentle for that. It fell upon them from above, pulsing outwards with the same tempo of one giant heart. It surrounded them so completely, it felt as if her own heart now beat to the same rhythm, finding solace in the guidance the light provided. Heart unburdened and eyes focused, Esther was finally able to take in her all that surrounded her.

If she had not descended into this labyrinth herself, she would have struggled to believe she were truly underground. There was _grass_ at her feet, healthy and thick and tall enough to sway steadily at her ankles. Further beyond, coiling trees encased in a peeling white bark twisted up and over themselves amongst the chunks of rocks breaching the soil. The smattering of leaves at their tops were so pale as to be translucent, and they greedily took in the color that was cast down from the ceiling like absent-minded blessings. Hung from and between the sharp stalactites over their heads were long pearlescent lines of thread, and adorning each line like a string of pearls, vibrant sparks of electric green light dangled.; they were so numerous, so bright, that the stone became the night sky, every glimmer a star. 

A heady scent hung heavy in humid air, and Esther blinked out of her shocked stupor when the smell hit her. It was sharp and peppery, just strong enough to burn her eyes but not enough for any watery tears to offer relief. It was strongest right at her side, along the wall she’d emerged from. Creeping over every spare surface she could see were thick patches of deep green moss; fragile sprigs of delicate blossoms, the same milky white as the trees, burst out in clusters from the densest patches.

The woman shuffled past her as Esther caught her breath. The air was so _heavy_ , leaden down with humidity and coating her throat in a layer of that stinging scent with every breath. Reaching up and onto the canopy of the smallest tree in the cave, the woman plucked something out of the treetop. Clutched between two twig thin fingers was a cluster of berries, dangling precariously from their little branch. They were the same harsh white as the bark they were plucked from, as the flowers they competed against for space amongst the stone. The woman plucked them one by one, gathering them in the crook of her elbow, and the deep pockets sewn into the stiff fabric of her patchwork dress. 

Esther took a few shambling steps towards the tree, trying to speak without too deeply inhaling the burning odor. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done, but my partner and I need to leave,” she said, standing far enough away that it was dangerously close to a shout. Any closer and the scent from the other wall became too much to bear. “We’ve been gone too long, and there are people who are going to be looking for us.” She tried to reason with her, but the woman paid her no mind, methodically reaching into the trees to add more berries to her bulging pockets.

Only when her arms where overflowing with her bounty did she turn. Her eyes widened, like she’d forgotten Esther was even there, but they fell into a heavy-lidded stare as she began to approach. She held up one of the berries, a wide smile swallowing her face. “What you need,” she whispered, stern and clipped, “Is a good wash, some rest, and a nice _meal_.” Her hand shot out, proudly shoving a handful of barriers at Esther’s face. They reeked worse than the walls; rotten sweet burning hot and she was so _hungry_ …

Esther stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over herself. Instead, she collided with a narrow chest and felt someone wrap their arms around her waist, pinning her own to her sides. 

At her back was a girl. A young girl, her face still round with baby fat, but nearly a head taller than Esther. As she looked down on her, loose waves of her straw-colored hair escaped from the bun they were stacked in. She blinked owlishly, then beamed down at her, nearly bouncing in place. 

Esther jerked against her grip. “Let. Me. Go!” She demanded, twisting in the girl’s hands. And instantly, she complied. The girl looked shocked, clutching her hands underneath her chin and stepping away with teary eyes. Behind her was another girl, smaller than the first but just as young, clusters of freckles spotting her dark skin. She looked frightened behind the thick curtain of hair falling over her eyes, tucking herself behind the first girl. 

“Oh,” the straw-haired girl moaned. “I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry. Please don’t be upset.” She looked just close to tears, hanging her head in shame and shuddering from the weight of it all. She made for such a pitiful sight that Esther almost felt guilty; at least the girl had backed off when she’d asked. The woman probably would have just sunk in deeper.

The girl suddenly shot up, her big dark eyes glimmering with excitement and unshed tears. “I’ll make it up to you!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to take Esther’s hands in her own. Even the girl who’d been hiding started to perk up, following close behind her companion. “Don’t go alone. Together is better, and so much nicer. Right now!” 

“Can we take her? Pretty please can we take her?” She was looking over Esther’s head, speaking to the woman who’d been silent during the brief exchange.

Rooted in place, the woman had never lost her thin-lipped smile, but a quiet _squelch_ just barely broke through heavy silence. Tossing the crushed berries into the thick grass surrounding the tree, the woman turned her back to them and returned to her harvesting.

“Remember to eat.” It was a command, a dismissal, and a nonchalant parting all in one. 

“We will!” The two spoke with the practiced unison of the inseparable. The brown-haired girl rushed to her left while the straw-headed one took up her right. They both looked at her with wide, beaming smiles.

“No, _listen_ to me! I need to…” She wasn’t able to finish as the two girls took off for another jagged gash along the stone wall. It was all she could do to keep up with the frantic pace they set; every foothold she found was abruptly pulled out from under her as the girls’ race through the narrow tunnel. Their hushed giggles were loud enough to bounce off the close packed wall; it followed, engulfed, and seemed to precede their every step. It sounded as though she were surrounded by an army of hundreds, and not two lanky school-aged children with considerably _adult_ strength.

The girls had yammered away, ducking down low to whisper and giggle at one another, and Esther was able to peer at them unnoticed. Whenever the smaller girl skipped along with a particularly high step, the dense curls of her hair lifted just enough, revealing a thick bandage sealed over her ear. It was secured to her cheek and scalp with dingy medical tape but seemed fresh if the red stain leaking through was any indication.

The tall girl had a similar dressing, but this one rested at the top of her sternum, and only revealed itself when she gestured a little too wildly, sending her collar off-kilter. 

“When they take the piece, it’ll hurt bad. So bad, bad terrible yucky. But then, food and sleep! Maybe something extra special since you’re fresh.” The smaller girl was running her free hand along the mossy wall, reaching into a particularly tall patch of the stuff far deeper than Esther thought possible; her arm cut through the foliage as easily as parting a wave. When she drew it out, a small bundle of white flowers was clutched in her hand. She presented them proudly, looking eager before she realized that Esther had no free hand to take them. She settled for tucking one behind her unbandaged ear, one behind Esther’s, and passed the rest of the bundle to the tall girl.

“You could spend time dancing, just like me!” She proclaimed, tucking the flower into the bun atop her head, “Mother loves to watch the steps, and we get the best treats, and a pretty dress that—” 

“I have one!” Esther shouted, dragging her heels as best she could against their excited march. She’d decided some time ago that she’d find a way to divert their little trek, but whatever _bad bad terrible yucky_ thing awaited at their destination gave her incentive to act sooner than later.

The taller girl looked down at her, confused but intrigued. The smaller girl, not following their conversation, had tried to keep moving forward, tugging so hard at Esther’s arm that she worried it would pop out of the socket. “I already have…” She winched, rolling her shoulder to try and sooth the sudden stiffness, while the girls stared expectantly at her. “A very pretty dress. Can you help me…find it?” 

“Well…” the tall girl trailed off, tapping at her chin in thought with the arm not coiled around Esther’s bicep, “Mother prefers what Mother makes.” 

“But,” the small girl interjected, trying to steer them down a split in the path, “She likes it best when we’re resourceful.” She had such a soft voice, but Esther didn’t think it came naturally. The girl _tried_ to speak up, but flinched each time, like she was startled by the sound of her own voice. 

The tall girl assented gleefully, picking up the pace once again as the tunnel sloped downwards. But as they went deeper, a burning sulfuric smell—not worse than the rotting berries but not much better—carried on the increasingly humid air. Thin wisps of steams traveled above their heads, diffusing the once bright pinpricks of light into a homogenous haze.

Unfazed by the haze, her escorts strode forward, breaking free from the narrow tunnel into a new cavern. But they were no longer alone.

The cavern was filled with children. 

Here, they all crowded around a wide lake, fed into the chamber by a natural split in the ceiling. Heavy streams of water cascaded down with such force that it sent waves spilling out and onto a shoreline made of shattered chunks of stone, the natural rock bed keeping the lake from overflowing. The small girl clutched her arm tighter, using it as leverage to tug Esther down to her level. “If you came with a dress,” she whispered close to her ear, “It’ll be here.”

Some older children sat by the lake, cleaning sheets of metal or glittering stone with torn bits of cloth. Others were there for just a moment, filling wooden pails and then darting away with their haul. Most sat beside small piles of clothing, tearing frocks, vests, slacks, and shirts into thin strips that they laid in the water to soak. 

The two girls finally released her. The idea to run flickered through her head for a moment, but she let it dissipate without much attention. They’d taken so many turns—some through sections too dark to even see—that she didn’t trust in her ability to remember them in perfect order. She’d try to gamble just a little longer; she needed the time to find…

One of the girls had grown impatient, placing both palms at Esther’s back and pushing her harshly towards the lakeside. “Up top is new, and underneath is old. Not worth it,” The dark-haired girl whispered before darting off to poke through some of the smaller piles, rarely lingering for more than a few seconds.

Esther made slow progress weaving between the mountains of fabric, trying to inspect each child that she passed, but the looming presence of the taller girl following close behind kept her from lingering too long. They all carried on without paying her any mind, though the younger ones stopped their play to gape openly, before being tugged away by their seniors.

The reason she and the Father had come here at all flashed in her mind like an alarm, trying to place any of their small, half hidden faces to the dozens and dozens of little photos—pulled from scrapbooks, lifted out of lockets, snipped out of their first communion—she’d been leafing through the past few days. If she could just place one of them…

One of the piles, higher than all the others and being picked at by several of the oldest children, caught her eye as she passed; the deep blue that bordered her habit and the glint of iron that accented the cuffs of her sleeve.

She broke away from the taller girl, darting over to the dense mountain of clothing and awkwardly scaling its bulk, to the protests of those who’d been attending to it. It was far denser than it appeared, with layers and layers of leather, lace, and linen compressed into an almost solid surface. The moment it was in reach, Esther latched onto her habit and _shoved_ it deeper into the pile, all the while making a show of tossing unwanted rags aside in a blundering search. 

If they’d tossed her clothing into this mess, maybe they’d done the same with her bag, with the Father’s revolver, with a pair of shoes that could handle a trek through the mud…

“Hey!” The taller girl had overcome her initial shock at seeing her captive dart away, and now stood at the base of the pile anxiously, picking up the flung garments and gently dusting them off. “Do it nice or not at all!” One of the articles she’d picked up was mostly intact, and she turned it over in her hands to admire the rhinestones that glittered along its long train of sheer white fabric. “Won’t any be good?” she asked hopefully, holding the gown up for Esther to inspect.

“Well mine’s…special!” Esther returned, trying to gently kick away a hand that had wrapped around her ankle. A small crowd of the younger children had started to amass around the pile, and while most kept their distance idly picking up and trying on torn clothing, a few brave souls crept up to tug at her pant leg and pinch her skin. 

She was stalling, and not particularly well if the skeptical look on the other girl’s face was any indication. “I have to look my best right?” she continued, her arm shoulder deep into the pile. Trying to placate her more _handsy_ audience, Esther felt around for something to entertain them. Her fingers brushed along and latched onto the folded edge of her cornette, but it was caught on something else within the mess. 

Yanking hard enough to tear the fabric, Esther pulled the cornette free, tossing it down for the children to inspect. Too late, she spied just what it had been tangled up in. 

Her rosary. The beaded cord had been twisted tight to bundle up her clothing, but the sword edges at the center of the cross had torn right through the fabric when she pulled.

They had already started tearing the cornette into narrow strips, freeing the rosary to drop to the floor with a muffled thump. Before any of the children could notice it, the taller girl had snatched it away, eyes wide with shock as she gazed at it. 

“What is this?” She asked, voice wobbling slightly as she dangled the cross at eye level. She’d abandoned that white gown she’d picked out, freeing her hands to lovingly trace each individual bead.

Esther hesitated, not sure how to answer. “That’s…” A link to the Lord, our Father, who art in Heaven; A connection to people I will never know; a string of iron that catches the light in the most beautiful way. “Something very special to me, so please be careful.” With the girl’s focus so squarely on the rosary, Esther took one last plunge into the pile, bent nearly in half as she felt around…somewhere, and…There! She hooked onto the familiar worn leather strap of her bag and left out a small sigh of relief that it still had the weight she remembered. 

The girl was laughing softly when she resurfaced, keeping the bag tucked behind her back as she watched her warily. “Mine was made of little red seeds,” She said in a sweet, sing-song voice, rocking back and forth on her heels as she was cradled in a memory.

But the warmth that had filled her began to drain, leaving behind shaking hands and wide, glassy eyes. “What?” She whispered. Not to Esther, or the rosary, or anyone. 

She kept talking, arguing against some contradiction that she could not circumvent. “No, it wasn’t— _I_ wasn’t…There? Here? But that doesn’t make any…”

Spinning around, the girl took in the cavern in its entirety, shell-shocked at the scope of it all. She looked back to Esther; her blank gaze was replaced by a growing panic that only worsened as her sights landed on the older children who’d abandoned their tasks to approach both young women. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she took in deep, gasping breaths, anxiously picking at the bandage at her sternum. “Where am I?” She cried out, stumbling out of the growing crowd’s reach to land at the base of the pile, pleading up to Esther for guidance. 

Esther tried to steady the girl’s shaking frame, supporting her lulling head between her hands. It didn’t stop her eyes—she’d been so sure they were dark, but no, they were _blue_ —from darting all around her. “We’re underground. In the middle of a series of tunnels and caves. Do you remember how you got here?” She needed something, anything to anchor this liminal space to the rest of the world. If there was a path beyond the threshold, then they could escape.

“What? I…I never even…” the girl doubled over, dropping the rosary to clutch at her chest 

“Oh, god—god it hurts. What happened to me?” She moved aside the fabric of her blouse, reaching with her other hand to tear away the upper half of the bandage, looking down at some wound that Esther could not see. But what the girl saw there made her freeze, her face contorting with revulsion, her entire frame wracked with fear. She collapsed to her knees, pressing the bandage back to her chest and wailing so loudly that the sound reverberated throughout the cavern; any who had not already gathered to watch her shot to attention instantly, rushing forward to find the source of the cry. 

Esther could only watch in stunned silence as those closest to the girl began to weep, laying down in her lap or at her shoulder, brushing strands of hair away from her sweating brow. Those who were not weeping grabbed onto the girl, some clutching her legs, others gripping her arms; one boy even wrapped a hand around her loose curls and pulled down hard enough to bear her throat to the ceiling. All of them red-faced as they repressed the urge to cry with the others.

Together they lifted her up. Together they took her away. 

Any who had not laid a hand on her followed close behind in a chain of bodies that flexed forward and back as they desperately pushed and pulled at the collars of those in front. 

It had taken only minutes, but the room had cleared out. But, not completely.

Laughing uproariously, matching every crash of the waterfall, was the toddler that had tried to scalp her.

Whether it was her struggle descending the pile or the girl’s screams that amused her, Esther couldn’t be sure.

* * *

**Above**

William might have managed to sleep for a few more hours, if not for an insistent rain that battered the roof. In some places it had managed to seep right through the decaying wood of his ceiling, and now gathered in shallows puddles around his room.

He tried peering out the small window to take stock of the storm, but the dark gray clouds were so heavy with rain that they managed to completely blot out the sky. Beyond the wall window, glass fogging over from his breath, he spotted the dull orange light of what he presumed to be a lantern. It waved around wildly for a moment, the beam cutting a short line across the road, back towards the inn, and then darted away behind it.

Just as he craned his neck to try and peer around the corner the light had slipped behind, a rapid knock from his door startled him. When he tried to stand, a dull ache from his knee caused him to stumble, and he took a moment to try and ease the locked joint. But that slight hesitation had his visitor furious and the knocking grew louder, more annoyed. The door handle shook and then turned, the slight _click_ of the rusted lock managing to be incredibly loud, even in the onslaught of the storm. 

The door was thrown open by a small boy, his hair sopping wet and rain boots coated in a thick mud that nearly reached his knees. William could only stare as the boy stepped in, looked about the room, and then regarded him pitifully.

“Do you have a car?” the boy asked quietly, but it seemed as though he already had an answer in mind, shyly knocking his heels against the raised edge of the doorframe.

“Yes?” William answered, eyes drawn away for a moment as a woman, just as waterlogged as the boy and balancing sloshing buckets and dripping blankets in her arms, darted past the open door. Her footfalls resounded throughout the floor and echoed in the stairwell as she clumsily made her way out. The boy still watched him but looked like he’d much rather follow her.

“It got kind of…messed up.”

He didn’t even bother shutting the door behind him, rushing out past the boy and bolting for the stairway. 

“Dad says he can haul it up!” the boy called out after him. In his haste William nearly collided with the woman as she returned to the second story, blankets rung out and buckets empty. Before he could even mutter out an apology, she’d sidestepped him and kept moving. She spared a sympathetic glance to the boy, patting his shoulder as he slowly flipped through a ring of keys, comparing them to the piece of paper clutched in his hand.

He’d fallen asleep in his uniform but had somehow managed to shrug off both mantle and cassock as he tossed and turned in the threadbare cot, leaving him more than a little exposed to the elements. Hurrying downstairs, he tugged his collar up a little higher to protect against the storm, resigning himself to getting thoroughly drenched. As he passed the reception desk, he spotted the young woman from last night still guarding her wall of rusted keys. She seemed unbothered by the leaking ceiling, idly leafing through a thin magazine as about two kitchen’s worth of baking pans collected rainwater around her

Following the distant shouts of a man to the back of the inn, feeling his way towards the small carport he’d parked under, William wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see: A wildfire ignited by wayward lighting; flashflood waters up to his knees; maybe even Officer Volta come to run him out of town properly. Certainly, something more dramatic than the toppled wooden structure before him. For a moment he was relieved, figuring that a dented hood, while not _ideal_ , was preferential to any other gruesome fate. 

But then he realized that the wooden frame hadn’t toppled over.

It was _sinking_. 

Illuminated only by a meager lantern tossed haphazardly to the ground and the occasional flash of lighting, was a deep impression in the earth. The pit was filled to the brim with a thick, churning mud that was being endlessly stirred up by the pouring rain. It had managed to snap one of the support beams out of its frame, pulling it and the now slumped over structure, along with the back half of his car, into the muddy depths. 

William spared a single second to being completely mortified at the state of his vehicle, another to being amazed at the perfectly circular dimensions of the _sinkhole_ expanding right before his eyes, and a last to trying to survey the entire scene properly in the sporadic light. 

A man, built like a barn but not much taller than the fence that might surround it, was putting the finishing touches on a bulky knot that was looped underneath the frame of his car. At the other end, two draft horses, sharing a remarkably similar build to their handler, jerked away from their reigns after every wave of mud came flowing out from the pit. 

He rarely let himself wallow in anything resembling self-pity for longer than a few moments, and certainly not in the light of day for all to see. But, seeing as it was rather dark out, and the steel frame that he’d spent weeks painstakingly sanding down and patching and polishing was now submerged in all manner of filth, William decided that the twinge in his chest was well-earned.

The man, who had finished fiddling with his makeshift towing rig, gave the hood a hearty slap and spun around to deal with the horses rearing up against their harnesses. He kept his good mood even after spying William standing there, calling out to him over the rain. “Good Morning, Father! Is this your vehicle?”

He’d given the hood another slap, as though it wasn’t clear to which vehicle he was referring, and William gave a defeated nod. “Unfortunately. What on earth happened? Is there anything I can do to…” He looked over the man’s shoulder—not a difficult feat—at the two ponies, who’d taken to nibbling at the trail of rope behind them, “Speed this process along? I’ve got an urgent meeting that I simply cannot be late for.” God forbid he call Brother Petros all the way out here only to make the man wait around while he floundered in the mud. 

“While that’s very kind Father, I insist you let the professionals handle this.” One of the horses had finished chewing through its lead and was starting in on the other. “We here at the _Shrinking Violet_ pride ourselves on attentive service and timely problem solving.” Both were free now, and while the hungrier of the two was making short work of a clump of weeds, the other had wandered over to the man, who absentmindedly stroked its side while he talked. 

“We of course understand your frustration and are fully prepared to offer compensations, _within reason_ , for your time and an alternative to—” Lighting flashed suddenly, its thin trail making landfall out among the trees. The booming crash that followed was matched by a sharp splintering of wood so close that William was half convinced the inn itself had been struck down.

The horses, free to frenzy, reared up against the man, who’d only just seemed to realize they’d broken loose. He shoved William back towards the inn and made a diving leap for the unraveling ends of the makeshift harnesses, just barely managing to guide them before they bolted outright. “Go ask Janet! At the Front!” he called out, straining with the reigns of the uncooperative ponies, both rearing up nervously at another distant roar of thunder. “She’ll set you up with one of our— _ugh! C’mere you little_ —riding horses!”

The handler dismissed him with jerking nod directed at the inn before settling his full attention on the horses, dragging them by their frayed leads back to the sinkhole. Rather than argue with the man and earn mud-stained slacks in addition to his sodden dress shirt, William returned to the shelter of the inn’s front entrance. Janet had just finished aligning a new bucket with a leak in the ceiling but stopped long enough to sneer down at the puddle that had followed him inside. 

“Good morning, Miss.” William greeted her with a sigh, smoothing down his hair to try and drain some of the water out, “I was told I could request a—”

“Front desk isn’t open until ten.” She interrupted, shuffling back behind the counter to hop onto the high stool and return to her discarded magazine.

This day was proving to be…challenging. “The gentleman outside said you’d be able to help me?” William offered hopefully.

She ignored him, snapping the slim periodical open to put its neon-colored glossy cover in full view. On it, a squad of children, knock-kneed and huddled close, descended a steep incline into a foreboding cavern. Above them, jagged letters oozed a sickly green: _Believe in the Bizarre: Some Beasts are Born where God Dares Not Tread!_ The back advertised similar issues, with cackling amalgamations of animals and pitiful Bosch-esque demons vying for the attention of the reader. 

“Is the beast in question,” he started, and the young woman sent him a contemptuous glare from over the top of the page, “of the occultic variety? Or is it more of a spin on speculative biology?” 

There was a newfound spark in her eyes. “Sometimes it’s both!” she gleefully explained, “Once, there was this issue about parasites that crawled out of Hell! But they could only live in fish, so people just started eating _them_ without even noticing! She grew more animated the longer she spoke, eagerly pointing out the detailed figure of a spectral amblypygid whose antenniform legs passed through the innocent and ensnared the wicked. By the time she’d wrapped up her explanation of a tongue-eating isopod that breathed fire, she seemed completely at ease.

A clamoring from the stairs drew his attention as the young boy who’d woken him up raced down. He hopped up as best he could and slammed his ring of keys down onto the table. “Nobody was in 213,” He solemnly reported, “So I just covered their stuff with blankets. Can I go play outside?” 

Janet, annoyed once more at the distraction, carefully counted each key before looking the boy up and down. Tugging the sleeve of her wool pullover down over her palm, she swiped at the boy’s brow to wipe up the water gathering at his forehead while firmly instructing him, “Ask dad if he needs any help first.” The boy groaned but set off without further complaint, darting around to his sister’s side to pull out a small, bright yellow raincoat stuffed behind the desk. 

Before he left, the boy marched up to William, craning his neck to look him in the eye. “I covered your stuff,” he proudly announced, “ _and_ I locked your door.” 

“I appreciate your diligence. Do take care in the rain.” He sent the boy off with a grateful nod and a smile.

If Janet had been truly incensed by her brother’s appearance, it didn’t last once he’d gone. She rested her head in one hand, the other tracing the title of her comic. “That’s your car out front, isn’t it?” She asked sympathetically. He gave a small nod, trying to look a little feeble, a little worn out; if it helped hurry her along, he’d even throw in a shiver and a limp. She slid off her high stool, leaning forward to pop her back with a loud chorus of clicks. “Look, we’ve only got one horse fit for long-distance riding and we need her for the morning supply run,” She rummaged around behind her desk once more, triumphantly pulling out another oversized coat from behind her desk. “I’ll saddle her up and you bring her back before sundown. Sound fair?” 

He was tempted to try and negotiate for a little more leeway, but Janet had already ducked outside with a parting shout, “Meet me out back when you’re ready to go!” 

“I’ll need a proper coat, but I promise not to keep you waiting too long,” He replied, though he doubted she’d caught a word. The rain continued to fall in such a thick volley that the young woman was already obscured from view just moments after clearing the door. Shame I don’t have much else readily available anymore, he complained inwardly. If any of that muck had made its way into the interior, the cleanup would be well and truly hellish. But he couldn’t dwell on that so, promising himself a least a moment to wring out his sodden undershirt, William headed back to his room. 

True to his word, the boy had tried to cover just about everything he could reach. Even the bed had been stripped of its thin blankets and sheets, which had been repurposed as blockage against any water leaking through the gaps in the windowsill. He could make out the dark brown edge of his suitcase peeking out from underneath the bed where the boy had tried to shelter it from the leaks. Both it and his—blissfully dry—cassock had been wrapped up in a sheet of thin, hardwater stained plastic that seemed to have been salvaged from a washroom.

He’d sat on the edge of the bed to remove and wring out his button down, letting the water fall into one of the colorful buckets the boy had place under the worst of the leaks. He was just about finished when the communicator at his ear let out a series of rapid beeps. Accepting the call with one hand, he worked on shrugging his shirt on with the other. “Oh, Kate, you would not _believe_ the—”

“ _William!_ ” Came her distressed cry from where she’d materialized directly in front of him, so close that the edges of her habit phased right through his knees “I’ve been calling them all morning but nothing’s getting through and—” She choked up a bit when she saw the state he was in, then marched off in a huff to stare out the window.

“It’s nearly nine! You’re just _now_ getting up?!” William could tell by her tapping foot just how badly she wanted to pace around the room. It was a tense line of stress that traveled up her legs and splintered off at clenched fists and a near imperceptible tremor in her back that shook just the ends of her flickering hair. But she resolutely faced the window door and waited for him to finish dressing.

“In my defense.” he started, securing the last button, and unwrapping his cassock from its polyethylene prison, “It’s been a somewhat harrowing morning, but I’ve made the most of it.” Retrieving his cane from where it rested besides the bed, he plucked the key ring from the nightstand and headed for the door. The gentle ring of the metal brought Kate’s attention back to him and she flickered away from the window to reappear in the hallway, reading the plaques above each door while he locked up. She stopped in front of one doorway at the end of the hall, and after a moment of wringing her hands nervously, _stuck_ her head right through the door. He stared at her, a little baffled, but mostly used to the shortcuts she carved out of reality these days. “Didn’t take you for a peeping Tom, Kate.”

She shot up with a jolt, scowling at him. “This is the inn that Father Nightroad and Sister Esther checked into. I got so caught up with—.” She tensed up, taking several deep breaths before she was able to continue. “Clarke has been acting _bizarre_ all night—and we need to discuss that as well—but, I never checked in with those two and before I knew it, it was already morning. I haven’t heard from them since yesterday, but I can’t get a message through.”

He would have lit his pipe right then and there if he weren’t certain it would be a waste of a match. Instead, he settled for popping the unlit pipe between his lips to worry at the stem with his teeth, taking the stairs slowly as he added this latest problem to a list that had no business being so long so early. 

“I’ve already contacted Brother Petros. As soon as he arrives in Naples, we can gather our resources and try to locate—” 

“That’s the other strange thing…” She’d been speaking loud and clear right beside him, trailing behind as he took those final few steps. But as he entered the lobby, she ended the transmission that displayed her body, picking up her sentence as a tinny voice in his earpiece. “The communication relay is the only component that’s been failing. The tracking system is perfectly fine, and it’s had them running around Piazza del Mercato all morning. I don’t know why they would have gone back without telling me…”

She sounded so…tired. Whatever had kept her attention _all night_ had left her so drained that even something as troubling as this had slipped under her notice. And Clarke…would need to wait until at least one thing was under control. He trusted that whatever it was, she’d managed to keep it from spiraling so out of hand that it required immediate action. “They had a contact in Naples, correct? One of the missing persons’ family? Perhaps they needed to double back for more information and lost track of themselves. It wouldn’t be the first time that Abel’s forgotten to keep it at his ear.” 

It was silent on her end for a long moment, but then, “Maybe.” It was still loaded with worry, but cautiously hopeful as well. 

“Would you be so kind as to send a message to the good chief for me? I’m afraid my radio is…out of commission.” She gave one more brief response in the affirmative before hanging up to return to whatever bizarre misfortune had befallen her wayward pilot.

Out behind the inn, tucked underneath the tree line, was a long wooden stable. Though the trees grew tall and narrow, they were so densely packed together that their canopy offered protection from both wind and rain. Once inside, the sheets of rain and rolling thunder were pleasantly subdued. Janet was lingering at the entrance, catching rain on the rubber toe of her boot and shaking it off onto the dirt floor to make small puddles of mud. When she spotted him approaching, she beckoned him to follow her and ducked inside the enclosure closest to the entrance. 

“Now this here,” Janet muttered, stroking the tangled mane of the chestnut brown mare dozing inside, “Is Marble. She’s on the small side, and slower than you might like.” She moved to grab a brush hung up on one of the pegs lining the stall, setting to work upon the small knots that had become tangled up in the horse’s bridle. “But she’s the only _Trottatore_ we’ve got, so you’ll have to deal with it.”

“How long is the trip from here to the city? Not considering our…turbulent weather,” He asked, scanning the rest of the stables. They were largely empty, save a lone cow that peered out at them curiously from the opposite row and a few hens that seemed to have free reign of the place.

“Probably two hours. On a good day.” Janet replied, giving the horse’s mane a satisfied look before wrapping her hand around the reigns to guide it out of the box stall. 

“So, do you need a step ladder or…” She trailed off, looking back and forth at William and then the horse, who waited patiently between them. He arched an eyebrow, feigning offense at her comment but then silently passing her his cane to hold. He took a hold of the horn of the saddle, set his foot in the stirrup, and hefted himself up in one smooth motion, reaching down to pluck the cane out of her loose grip. While he set about securing his cane into the leather scabbard that ran parallel to the mare’s flank, Janet silently guided them out to the roadside. From the other side of the inn, shouts from the innkeeper and his son could be heard as they wrestled against the elements.

“Hey,” Janet called up to him, anxiously tugging at the buckles of the saddlebags. “Don’t feed her anything from town. I’ve packed plenty of food right here.” She shook the leather pouch to illustrate her point, smiling weakly as several somethings rolled around inside. 

William just watched her for a moment, trying to pick apart the worry that had overtaken her. “What’s wrong with the food around those parts?” he asked her, startled as she _flinched_ away from him. “They seemed so proud of this year’s harvest.” 

She was shivering now, either from fear or from the bone deep chill that might have finally started to assert itself. She pulled her long raincoat tightly around her, tucking the lower part of her face into the high collar of her sweater. “It makes them sick,” was her muffled reply. And with that, she turned on her heel and headed back for the stable, leaving him—almost—alone in the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR  
> ⭐ vs 🌳👧🏾🌳👧🏼🌳
> 
> 👨🏫 vs 🌧


End file.
